Рита Браун - Pawing Through The Past

"Yes, he brought miniature flashlights shaped like cell phones."

"That's my E.R. for you: ever the marketer."

"Would you like me to take a turn here? That looks heavy," Harry offered.

"Why don't you run in and get someone strong-like a man-to do this. That's what men are for." Bitsy gave up and slowly set down her side of the urn, as did Chris.

"Are we still allowed to say stuff like that?" Chris giggled.

"Yeah, among us girls we can say anything. We just can't say it publicly." Bitsy laughed, "Nor would I admit to E.R. that I need him. But I do need him."

Harry dashed into the gym, returning with Bob Shoaf, Most Athletic, who had played for seven years with the New York Giants as cornerback. Apart from having a great body, Bob wasn't hard to look at. He was, however, blissfully married, or so the newspapers always reported.

"Girls, you go on. I'll do this." He hoisted the urn up to his chest. "You two should look familiar to me but I'm afraid I can't place you."

"They helped us all summer and fall, Bob, but these two lovely damsels aren't from our class. Bitsy Valenzuela-Mrs. E. R. Valenzuela-and Chris Sharpton, a friend."

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands." He carried the urn into the gym, where BoomBoom greeted him as though he had brought back the Golden Fleece from Colchis.

Bitsy and Chris stopped inside the door. "It's odd."

"What?" Bitsy turned to Chris. "What's odd?"

"Seeing these people after staring at their yearbook pictures. It's like a photograph come to life."

"Not always for the best." Mrs. Murphy lifted her long eyebrows. The class of 1980 had been on earth long enough for the telltale spider veins in the face to show for those who drank too much. The former druggies might look a bit healthier but brain cells had fried. A poignant vacancy in the eyes signaled them. A lot of the men were losing their hair. Others wore the inner tube of early middle age, not that any of them would admit that middle age had started. Nature thought otherwise. Bad dye jobs marred a few of the women but by and large the women looked better than the men, testimony to the cultural pressure for women to fuss over themselves.

Bonnie absentmindedly stroked Mrs. Murphy as she double-checked her list. Everyone had checked in except for Meredith McLaughlin, who wouldn't arrive until lunch. Harry rejoined her while Chris joined Dennis, wreathed in smiles now that she was back.

"Done." Bonnie put down her felt-tip pen.

"You're a fast thinker. I should have remembered that." Harry smiled. "When you came up with 'Secret Life, Televangelist' for Dennis Rablan, I could have died. That was perfect. Even he liked it!"

"Had to do something. What do you put down for the Best All-Round who has . . ." She shrugged.

"Zipped through a trust fund and unzipped too many times," Harry laughed.

"And then there's you. Most Likely to Succeed and Most Athletic, running the post office at Crozet," Bonnie said.

"I guess everyone thinks I'm a failure."

"Not you, Mom, you're too special." Tucker reached up, putting her head in Harry's lap.

"No." Bonnie shook her head. "But if there were a category for underachiever, you'd have won. You were, and I guess still are, one of the smartest people in our class. What happened?"

Harry, dreading this conversation, which would be repeated in direct or subtle form over the next day and a half, breathed deeply. "I made a conscious choice to put my inner life ahead of my outer life. I don't know how else to say it."

"You can do both, you know," remarked Baltier, successful herself in the material world. She ran an insurance company specializing in equine clients.

"Bonnie, I was an Art History major. What were my choices? I could work for a big auction house or a small gallery or I could teach at the college level, which meant I would have had to go on and get my Ph.D. I never wanted to do that and besides I married my first year out of college. I thought things were great and they were-for a while."

"I'm rude." Baltier pushed back a forelock. "I hate to see waste. Your brain seems wasted to me."

"If you measure it by material terms, it is."

"The problem with measuring it in any other way is that you can't."

"I think it's time we join the others. I'm hungry."

"You pissed at me?"

"No. If BoomBoom had asked me I'd be pissed." Harry then nodded in the direction of an attractive woman on the move up, one face-lift to her credit, holding court by the pyramid of Krispy Kreme doughnuts. "Or her."

Deborah Kingsmill, voted Most Intellectual, truly thought she was superior to others because she was book-smart and because she'd escaped her parents. And that's exactly where her intelligence ended. She'd never learned that people with "less" intelligence possessed other gifts.

Deborah and Zeke Lehr, the male Most Intellectual, were pictured together reading a big book in Alderman Library. Zeke owned a printing business in Roanoke. He'd done well, had three kids and kept himself in good shape. He was pouring himself a second cup of coffee while listening to BoomBoom discuss the sufferings of organizing the reunion.

"Hey, thanks for your work." Rex Harnett, already smelling like booze, kissed Harry on the cheek.

"You know, it turned out to be fun," Harry admitted to the broad, square-built fellow, who had been voted Most School Spirit and would easily have qualified for Most School Spirits.

"Fair coming?"

"He is but he's probably on call this morning. He'll get here as soon as he can. He's as much a part of our class as his."

"You two getting back together?"

"Not you, too!" Harry mocked despair.

"I have personal reasons. You see, if you aren't interested in the blond god then I'd like to ask you out."

"Rex?" Harry was surprised and mildly revolted.

Tucker, on the floor, was even more surprised. "He's to the point. Gotta give him credit for that."

"I thought you were married."

"Divorced two years ago. Worst hell I've ever been through."

"Rex, I'm flattered by your attention"-she eased out of his request-"but we aren't the right mix."

He smiled. "Harry, you can say no nicer than any woman I know." He glanced across the room. "The redhead and the blonde look familiar but I can't place them."

"Bitsy Valenzuela, E.R.'s wife."

"The other woman?"

"Chris Sharpton. She moved here from Chicago and she and Bitsy helped us organize."

"Market looks the same. Less hair," Rex said. "Boom's the same."

"She's beautiful. She's surrounded by men," Harry flatly stated.

Bonnie Baltier, having grabbed a doughnut, joined them, as did Susan Tucker.

"Isn't this something?" Susan beamed.

"We've all got to go down the hall and congratulate the class of 1950," Harry suggested. "After breakfast. You can't believe how they've decorated the cafeteria."

"We can see ourselves thirty years from now." Rex smiled.