Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

"You look great," Harry said with conviction. "Besides, half of our class still lives within shouting distance. Everyone knows what you look like."

"Harry, we hardly even see the people who moved to Richmond-like Leo Burkey. Shouting distance doesn't matter."

Harry cupped her chin in her hand. "Leo Burkey will be just like always, handsome and B-A-D."

"Hey, I'd like to meet this guy." The single Chris smiled.

"Is he between wives?" Harry asked Susan.

"BoomBoom will know."

"Of course she will." Harry laughed. "Miranda, we really aren't doing a thing for you but I'm glad our reunions are at the same time. We can use a skateboard to go up and down the halls to visit."

"I'll bet you think I can't even use a skateboard," Miranda challenged her.

"I never said that!"

"You didn't have to." Miranda winked. But just you wait, Miranda thought to herself, smiling.

"It's not fair that Murphy gets all the attention," Pewter wailed as she jumped on the kitchen counter.

"I don't get all the attention but I did bring in a fresh mole. Jealous."

"I am unloved," Pewter warbled at a high-decibel range.

Harry got up, opened the cupboard, and removed a round plastic bowl of fresh catnip. She rolled it between her fingers, releasing the heavenly aroma. Then she placed the bits on the floor where Pewter dove in, quickly followed by Murphy. Harry handed Tucker a Milk-Bone, which satisfied her.

A little coo from Pewter directed all human eyes to her. Blitzed on catnip, she lay on her back on the heart pine floor, her tail slowly swishing. Mrs. Murphy was on her side, her paws covering her eyes.

"Bliss." Miranda laughed.

"I love the whole world and everyone in it," Pewter meowed.

Murphy removed one paw-"Me, too"-then she covered her eyes up again.

"That ought to hold them." Harry sat back down after pouring everyone iced tea. Mrs. Hogendobber had brought homemade icebox cookies, cucumber sandwiches, and fresh vegetables.

"Do you know that some schools now regard senior superlatives as politically incorrect?" Susan reached for a sandwich.

"Why?" Miranda wondered.

Susan pointed to the senior superlative section, one full page for each superlative. "Elitist. Hurts people's feelings."

"Life is unfair." Harry's voice rose slightly. "You might as well learn that in high school if you haven't already."

"You've got a point there." Chris shook her sleek blonde pageboy. "I can remember crying hot tears over stuff that now seems trivial but I learned that disappointments are going to come and I've got to handle them. And all that surging emotion going through you for the first time. How confusing."

"Still is." Harry sipped her tea. "For me anyway."

"Is everyone in your class still alive?" Chris asked Susan and Harry.

"We've lost two," Susan answered. "Aurora Hughes." She turned the page to Most Talented and there a willowy girl in a full-length dress was in the arms of a young man, Hank Bittner, wearing a top hat and tails. "She died of leukemia the year after graduation. We were all in college and, you know, I still feel guilty about not being there.Aurora was such a good kid. And she really was talented."

"Who was the other one?" Chris asked.

"Ronnie Brindell." Harry spoke since Susan had just stuffed a cookie in her mouth. "They say he jumped off theGolden GateBridge inSan Francisco . He left a note. I still can't believe he did it. I liked Ron. I can't imagine he'd-well-what can you say about suicide?"

"Here." Susan flipped to the senior superlative for Most Pop-ular. A slender, slightly effeminate young man sat on a merry-go-round with Meredith McLaughlin, her eyes sparkling with merriment.

"He doesn't look depressed." Chris studied the picture.

"People said he was gay and couldn't handle it." Harry also studied the picture. "He was a nice boy. But the bruiser boys used to pick on him something terrible. I bet it was rough being a gay kid in high school but back then no one said anything like that. The gay kids must have gotten roughed up daily but it was all hidden, you know."

"I do, actually. We had the same thing atLakeShore . I guess every school did. It's sad really. And to think he jumped off the bridge." Chris shuddered.

"May the Lord be a tower of strength for the oppressed." Mrs. Hogendobber cited a verse from Psalm Nine and that closed the subject.

"Who knows what secrets will pop up like a jack-in-the-box?" Susan ruminated. "Old wounds might be opened."

"Susan, it's a high-school reunion for Pete's sake. Not therapy."

"Okay, maybe not therapy but it sure is a stage where past and present collide for all to see."

"Susan, I don't feel that way. We know these people."

"Harry, when was the last time you saw Bob Shoaf?" Susan mentioned the star athlete of their class, who became a professional football player.

"On television."

"You don't think he'll have the big head? Those guys snap their fingers for girls, cars, goodies . . . and presto, they get what they want. He won't be the same old Bob."

"He sounds fascinating, too." Chris's eyes widened.

"He thinks so. He was always conceited but he is good-looking and I guess he's rich. Those people pull down unreal salaries." Harry sighed, wishing a bit of money would fall her way.

"Maybe he blew it all. Maybe he's suffering from depression. Maybe he's impotent." A devilish grin filled Susan's face. "Secrets!"

"She's right, though. At our twentieth people who had crushes on one another in high school snuck off, marriages hit the rocks, old rivalries were renewed. It was wild, really. I had a good time, though." Chris shyly grinned.

Susan wheeled on Harry. "Charlie Ashcraft!"

"Not if he were the last man on earth!"

"You slept with Charlie. That's your secret."

"Is not," Harry protested.

"Girls." Mrs. Hogendobber feigned shock. She'd spent enough time around this generation to know they said things directly that her generation did not. She still couldn't decide if that was wise or unwise.

"You know, Harry, it will all come out at the reunion if what Chris says holds true for us."

"You're one brick shy of a load." Harry considered flicking a cucumber at her face. "Anyway, a woman has to have some secrets. People are boring without secrets."

Mrs. Murphy raised her head, her mind clearing somewhat from the delightful effects of the homegrown catnip. "That depends on the secrets."

2

Canadasent down a ridge of cool dry air which swept over centralVirginia , bringing relief from the moist, suffocating August heat.

That evening Harry, on her knees weeding her garden, rocked back on her heels to inhale the light, cool fragrance. With the mercury dipping to sixty-five degrees Fahrenheit, she had put on a torn navy blue sweatshirt.

Mrs. Murphy stalked a maple moth who easily saw her coming; those compound eyes could see everything. The yellow and pinkish creature fluttered upwards, fixing on the top of the boxwoods. From this lordly perch it observed the sleek cat, who, intelligent as she was, couldn't climb a boxwood.