Let's Do This Again

Inspirational song: Light Up (Styx)

Two nights in a row, I have been up well past 1 in the morning, testing the strength of my liver, and it has been totally worth it. Last night, it was all about reconnecting with just one old friend. Tonight I rediscovered that dozens of old friends are complex, wonderful people, and I got to expand on the two dimensional memories I had based on yearbook photos. At the ten year reunion, many of the barriers were still in place, and I was stressed out trying to relive the high school experience. That was a very long time ago now, and we all have become so much more comfortable in our own skin. Tonight's party was a giant love fest, and there were many of us who had a hard time calling it a night. I was sneaky, and since Mr S-P stayed home, I convinced one of my old best buddies from marching band (and so much more) to crash the reunion as my plus-one. She was behind us in school, but at least half our class remembers her well. By the end of the evening, most of us were wishing for more frequent, multi-class reunions anyway, and my younger friend had just folded into the group like she completely belonged in the first place.

My mother was unable to make it down to last night's dinner, but we connected at a Braum's restaurant halfway between her current home and our old one where the reunion was. (Naturally we met at a Braum's. I go to them every trip back to this state.) I needed that visit. I spend most days of the week sending her various messages on the Internet, but I need at least one yearly face to face session with my parents to recharge. Plus, she brought me a small painting she made and I can't wait to find a spot for it in the new house.

I'm not sure, but I think this is the first trip back to the place of my birth since I started writing. I might not have been here since the last reunion, five years ago. Back then, I felt this town was getting a second wind, and experiencing a revitalization. This time, it all felt weird, like it was entering a more pronounced period of genteel decay. I'm hoping that I am wrong. I always wanted good things for my hometown. But so many of the houses I loved, like the adorable old house from the first half of last century that my piano teacher owned, have fallen into disrepair. The house I grew up in either has been painted a soft creamy beige, or had been uniformly tobacco stained. The big yard next to it has the fence I always wished I could have built. But I haven't seen inside it since I left it twelve years ago. I will always wonder how much of my childhood still exists, even if I can never go back to it again.