Do You Remember?

Missed my 35th H.S. reunion this year. Couldn’t justify a 10,000 mile r/t for a few hours of reminiscing, with the awkward darting of eyes back ‘n forth between a name tag and a former classmate’s face to trigger recognition. “Oh, Pam Schmidt, yes, of course… yes I remember you, of course!” And then in that instant the awkwardness doubles because you can’t describe for Pam the 35-yr old image that suddenly leapt into your mind’s eye, the one that represents your memory of Pam. No, that would be impolite all these years later. It’s not your fault, you think. It’s not like I consciously stored this memory of Pam qua cheerleader, her back against the locker, our arms tangled in awkward embrace, lips co-pressed, hands roaming and hearts beating, unguided. Is Pam’s memory of you the same you wonder, that day after the game when you were the last to exit the team room, the school hallway long since empty of players and fans except for Pam who had come back into the building to fetch something from her locker. Is that what she remembers too, you wonder, all these years later, as her smile grows wider in the long seconds that pass as you stand there looking at each other trying to think of what to say next.

Or maybe it wasn’t Pam, or maybe it wasn’t you with Pam. Memory is imperfect, and after 35 years often unreliable.

Ha! Oh, what we might do different if we could start all over again, eh?