A few weeks back, she asked me if I'd like to come along for a weekend-long reunion some of her friends from high school were having — these were folks I'd known, and in some but not all cases been friends with. But I had not seen most of them literally since the 80s. That's the 1980s, for you youngsters, and it was a magical but complicated time to be a teenager.
We'd all stay in a lodge in the mountains, far from any cell phone service (just like high school!). And folks who had them would bring their significant others and kids.
And for some reason, that sounded awesome in the moment C mentioned it, and so I said yes, enthusiastically.
A few days before the gathering (that'd be last week), I wondered what the hell I was thinking. These folks have all kept up with each other for more than two decades. Their kids and significant others all know each other. I'd be living with more than 20 other people for days, and some of those people would likely scream a lot. Probably none of them would even remember me. Probably none of them even liked me in high school, and when they saw me again, they'd remember why. Probably the food would consist entirely of mangos and walnuts and raw onions (all of which I have mild allergies to). Probably everyone would wonder what was wrong with me that I didn't have a spouse or kids. Probably no one would wonder what was wrong with me, because it's obvious.
Maybe I don't talk all that much about being occasionally irrationally inconsistently horrendously insecure here on City Mouse Country. That might be because I assume it's the most boring thing I could blog about, but hey, the Bloggess writes about it all the time and she's got a fantastic blog and a book deal.
So, in a turn that will surprise none of you who are either more rational or more removed from this story than I am, which is all of you, I went and had the time. of. my. life.
I reconnected with people who might have been gone from my life forever. I met the amazing people who've come into their lives since the 80s. And I was, to my shock, welcomed with open arms. Two old friends in particular spent not-insignificant chunks of time just staring at me and saying my name, like it was simultaneously so cool and so unlikely that I was there they couldn't get over it. We laughed and laughed and laughed. There was hiking and playing and music and a campfire and incredible food and lots of time to catch up. These people who were kids the last time I saw them have kids who are just unbelievable. I also learned a bunch, which I'll share soon but not now, because this post is already plenty long enough.
But the very worst thing that happened to me was a mild sunburn that doesn't even hurt.
And that, my friends, is a damn good weekend.
Oh, also: I do observe that my house seems improbably quiet with just me in it. Is it always like this?