Reunion

Reunion

Trish sat at her dressing table in a black lace bra and panties, carefully applying a hint of blush, a dab of shadow, two layers of mascara and mauve lipstick. She brushed her hair slowly, searching for any vestiges of her teenage years. No one will recognize me she thought as she studied her silky auburn curls, once stringy dishwater blond, her dewy skin and high cheekbones no longer ravaged with acne, her now voluptuous curves she’d kept hidden under layers of oversized sweatshirts and baggy pants.

She closed her eyes, felt her stomach clench and the familiar bubble of nerves as she thought about her high school years—the whispered taunts she endured from the preppy girls, the smirks from jocks, the lonely lunches and indifferent teachers. Who said high school was supposed to be the best years of your life? What a crock of shit.

She felt hands on her shoulders and opened her eyes, watching her husband’s reflection leaning down to kiss her neck, her shoulder, then he looked up, their faces side by side in the mirror. “I can go with you,” he said, then kissed her ear. “No need to face your demons alone.”

Trish shook her head. “I need to. I want to show them who I am now, my strength and confidence. If you go, they’ll ignore me, surround you like vultures, grabbing and mooning and asking for autographs.” She turned toward him. “No, babe, this is my night to shine.” She stood up, leaned into him with a wait-up-for-me hug, then slipped her black dress over her head. “Zip me up, please?”

His hands lingered on her waist. “You look gorgeous, Trish. Knock ‘em dead.”

***

Trish stood at the buffet table trying to decide between the stuffed mushrooms or spiced nuts when she spotted a group of vaguely familiar women entering the room, chatting and laughing too loudly, a cluster of men trailing them, probably their husbands. She watched as they scanned the room, glancing at then dismissing her as unimportant, a classmate’s wife perhaps. Satisfied she wasn’t recognized, she smiled, anticipating their surprise when they learned her identity, their astonishment as they noted her sleek updo, flawless skin (thank you Dr. Chen), her just-right curves and elegant clothes. As she placed a mushroom, a few nuts and a carrot stick on her plate, she admired the ruby and diamond tennis bracelet her husband had given her just last week (nothing but the best for my sweetheart) and the large diamond engagement ring that twinkled like the party lights draped above the table.

“Do I know you?” Trish turned toward a man with a buzz cut, thick-framed glasses and heavy jowls and read his name tag. Jaxon Coleson jerk extraordinaire. She popped the mushroom in her mouth, chewed slowly and pointed to her name tag above her right breast. He squinted, leaned closer, eyed her chest too long for propriety. “Trisha Monroe...Trisha...Trisha.” He shook his head. “Sorry, my mistake. Are you with someone?”

She nibbled a cashew. “I’m married, yes, but he’s not here tonight. Reunions bore him.”

“In that case, shall we find a table? I’m solo too.” He lead her to an empty table along the back wall. Two more couples soon joined them. The women, Wanda and Julene, were high school cheerleaders, waiflike and witchy back in the day, now packing the pounds and all plastic smiles. They offered their cheeks to Jaxon for air kisses while Butch, the high school bully, high-fived him. Julene introduced the other man, Robert, who shook hands with Jaxon, then they all looked at Trish curiously.

“Do we know you?” the two women said simultaneously, then giggled at the coincidence. Not anymore, Trish thought as she sipped her water. The others sat and signaled the waiter to refill their wine glasses.

“So, you are—”

“Trish. Trisha Monroe. She smiled at their blank expressions. “I wasn’t all that involved in school. Hated it, actually. All the drama, stupid classes, phony people—”

Wanda frowned. “Then why are you here, Trish, if you hated it so much?” She held up her glass while the waiter filled it, then added, “Seems to me you’d find something better to do than waste your time at a reunion.”

Still snarky. She shrugged. “People change. I was curious. So, what are you up to?” She nibbled her carrot slowly.

Wanda glanced at Butch who seemed mesmerized by this strange woman. She scowled, nudged him out of his trance. “Tell her what you do, Boo.”

“I own a sporting goods store and the wife here keeps the books.”

“How exciting. Must be fun to sell toys all day.” Trish turned to Julene. “And you? What do you do?”

“Oh, this and that. Busy with the kids mostly, swim meets and soccer games and piano lessons.

Robert—” she tugged his sleeve to draw his attention away from Trish. “He’s a math professor at the college.”

“That must be fascinating, all those numbers and calculations.” Trish leaned forward and lowered her voice, forcing the others to do the same. “Hey, do you remember that weird girl in algebra with the ugly glasses, greasy hair and the Star Wars, no, Star Trek lunch box? Pam...or Pat...maybe Patty—”

“Oh god, yes, Fatty Patty,” Jaxon said, his face a grimace of disgust. “She was a piece of work—looking like a dumb shit, always wearing the same jeans and army coat, talking to herself in the hallway—”

“Batty Patty, we called her,” Julene said laughing. “She was a total nerd—sucking up to teachers, riding a fucking bike, s’cuse my french, with a friggin’ bell and basket to school, eating with the retards—”

“Butch,” Wanda said, “Do you remember the time in gym class when she split her shorts playing dodge ball?”

The group burst out laughing, including Trish, who added, “And no one told her all period, so every time she bent over you could see TUESDAY written on her ass.” Their laughter increased, drawing the attention of classmates from the other tables.

“Or the time,” Jaxon added with a chuckle, “Paul Williams asked her to the prom, said he’d meet her there, then showed up with Melanie while good ol’ Fatty Patty stood on the sidewalk—”

“In that horrid pink dress that looked like a bedspread,” Wanda shrieked, “while she bawled her eyes out.” She clinked glasses with Julene then finished her wine.

“I’m sure high school wasn’t easy for some people,” Robert said when their laughter subsided. “She’s probably doing fine now, at least I hope so.”

Julene rolled her eyes. “Just be glad you didn’t know her, Rob. She was a total freak.” She swallowed the last of her drink then motioned for the waiter.

“I wonder whatever did happen to her,” Trish mused, declining the waiter’s offer of wine.

“Probably living in a trailer working at Walmart,” Wanda suggested.

“Or still living with mama, watching TV all day,” Jaxon added.

“Maybe,” Julene said, “she’s sitting at one of the other tables and we just haven’t seen her yet.” They all turned to scan the room, Jaxon standing for a better look.

“Is that her?” he asked, pointing at a plump woman with frizzy blond hair wearing a clingy silver dress heading toward the buffet table.

“I don’t think so,” Trish said. “She’s too short. Plus, I doubt she’d come to a reunion after all the

shit—”

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” Jaxon sat down. “Plus, we’ll never know what happened to her, and who cares anyway, am I right?” The others nodded.

Trish leaned forward again. “I did hear, however, that she married a celebrity—some famous singer I’ve never heard of—”

“No way!” Wanda and Julene said together, their eyes wide and mouths gaping.

“Hey, that’s what I heard. I can’t think of his name—Ronnie, no, Rowan, no Ronan somebody—”

“Holy shit!” said Jaxon. “Not Ronan O’Malley? From Ireland? Didn’t he just win a Grammy for best new artist?”

“Yeah, I think that’s him. Crazy, huh?” Trish looked at their astonished faces and smiled.

“No way, Jose, not Fatty Patty. That’s a sick rumor. Jesus.” Butch snorted in disgust.

“Any chance we can change the subject?” Robert asked. I don’t know this Patty, but I would like to know more about Trish. What do you do?”

Trish looked at the five people seated around her, four who had made her life miserable and one who looked as though he would prefer to be anywhere else. “I research genetic factors in neurological disorders,” she said, reveling in their confused expressions. “In other words, I try to find out what causes abnormal brain development in utero and how we might mitigate mutations to avoid what you refer to as retards.”

Wanda and Julene glared at Trish. Butch gulped his wine, Jaxon fiddled with his phone, and Robert looked at the floor. Trish stood up. “This has been an enlightening evening, and my curiosity has been satisfied. Now, if you’ll excuse me, Ronan is waiting for me at home.”