It’s the time of year that those unwanted letters appear in the mail. No, not ads for replacement windows. I’m talking about the ones that show up every five or ten years and have a return address of someone that you knew long ago. Yes, that’s right, the dreaded HIGH SCHOOL REUNION announcement.
My high school class was as ordinary as all the others. Comprised of jocks, nerds, mean girls, weirdo’s (my group of just me), and the special (associate member).
My friend Bill and I were often sitting next to one another in class just because our last names were alphabetically in sequence. We worked out a system where we would do absolutely no work the first semester and receive a failing, or if we cheated a little bit, a near failing grade. The following semester we did just enough to get a passing grade for the year. It was a matter of pride for me when I learned later on that I was ranked number 142 in academic standings. Since I thought that we had 148 people in our class, when I was bragging about my ranking at our 25th year reunion, a friend informed me that I was mistaken. We had 143 students in our class. That meant that I was just smart enough to rank above Tom ____. Someone we referred to as Tomcat.
I should have had some inkling of this years before as Tomcat and I were paired in a drivers education car with the authoritarian shop teacher referred to as “Slick”, a play on his surname. The teacher was well aware of what most students thought of Tomcats cognitive abilities, and in particular my own personal opinion that I had voiced To Slick.
One Saturday during our driving lesson, Tomcat was driving and Slick reminded him to check his rear view mirrors at least once every ten seconds. Unfortunately, at this moment we were heading north out of town over a blind overpass that curved to the right. It was impossible to see oncoming traffic until they were right on you. Well Tomcat heard ‘every ten seconds’ as ‘ten seconds’ and proceeded to stare into the rear view mirror long enough for the car to veer into the oncoming traffic lane. Before I could start screaming, Slick had jerked the steering wheel and pulled us back into our own lane. He looked over his shoulder, into my eyes, with a look that said “I don't want to hear a fucking word out of your mouth”. Oddly enough, I got the message immediately.
One of the best things to happen at my 25 year reunion was I was able to reconnect with one of my best friends in high school. At one point in the evening we were lamenting the fact that neither of us had ‘gotten lucky’ very often. Jim attributed his lack of dates to someone starting a rumor that he was gay. Since it sounded like the kind of shit I would do, I said “Oh yeah, I started that rumor to improve my chances”. Instead of getting mad, he just started laughing uproariously.
We continued to relive the old days, until another former classmate said to Jim, “I love all your books, my kids have had many happy hours reading them”. Stumped I asked him what she was talking about. “Oh, except for a few years working in advertising after high school, I’ve been working for myself as a book illustrator. I’ve done at least a book a year for others, in addition to writing and publishing a few of my own”.
To say that my friend James LaMarche is a genius of illustration is as true a statement ever to be uttered. I can’t look at his book ‘The Raft’ without being drawn back into an imaginary childhood of wonder and delight. If you have any children in your life that you want to give the best gift ever, give them one of Jim’s books. You will change that child’s life forever. Hell, buy all his books and give them to every child you meet.
Now as much fun as it was catching up with Jim, I couldn’t help but notice that I was receiving some strange if not downright wary looks from people walking to and fro across the event space. I didn’t figure out until after I got home and read the almost 50 page booklet what was up. The booklet contained all the names and addresses of my classmates in addition to a section titled ‘Most Memorable Events and Other Comments’. We had been sent the usual signup for the event months beforehand. But what I had forgotten was the organizers had asked about’Memorable Events and Other Comments’. I had responded with whatever errant thought was in my head at the time, never thinking that they would have the balls to actually print it. Big mistake. Believe me, if I could make this stuff up, I be a much better writer. Here’s some photos of the booklet.
As always if you liked this story, tell someone about it. Remember, these are all true stories. Restack it, or just send me a little heart ❤️. But for Christ sake’s don’t approach me in public. You never know what will come out of my mouth!
Glad your medication is working!
I literally laughed out loud. Great story. :)