The music is loud, though not as loud as I remember it ten years ago. Someone decided to decorate this place in navy blue and gold, with the words "Welcome Back, TKDS Class of 1995!" glittering over the dance floor
10 Years To Late Regina Mosheyeva This is it, I tell myself nervously. Go in; don’t be afraid. So I straighten my sleek little black dress and step through the doors of the ballroom, the click of my pumps now muted against carpet. The music is loud, though not as loud as I remember it ten years ago. Someone decided to decorate this place in navy blue and gold, with the words “Welcome Back, TKDS Class of 1995!” glittering over the dance floor. Even though my décor at home now consists of finger paintings and preschool crafts, it all strikes me as tacky and unsophisticated. A long-forgotten memory of a feeling of intense uncertainty resurfaces. I head for the refreshments. A girl a decade younger serves me some drinks. Then, I am spotted. I know this girl. She was in my P.E class and I remember her being very pretty with Pantene Pro-V dark brown hair and big brown eyes and a rosy complexion. Strangely, she’s gotten…less pretty, and gained several kilos at least. I can’t remember her name, but she proves that she has lost none of her pep in the last ten years. “Are you someone’s wife?” she asks through very glossy lips that make her look childish. I shake my head. “No. I graduated with you. Rosie Hudson, remember?” My maiden name feels foreign in my mouth. “Right! Well, are you still with that guy? You know, the eighteen-year-old?” I almost laugh. Am I a paedophile now? No, I assure her, my husband is in his middle thirties and James and I broke up in our last year of high school. She seems satisfied and goes off to talk to someone else. As she walks away, I remember that her name was Brittany or something like that, but it seems unimportant. The deejay starts to play a song I remember being very cool when we were all seventeen, one that my oldest daughter would wrinkle her nose at and complain about how old I am.
As I walk over toward the dance floor, I hear someone call my name. I turn around to see a short woman with brown curls that reach her shoulders smiling at me. I grin as I recognize my old best friend. “Melanie? Melanie Johnson?” I ask, and she nods. I laugh and hug her. “How are you?” “I’m doing alright. Busy, but alright,” she smiles. “Teaching has got me practically pulling my hair out!” We both laugh, and then her face takes on a concerned look. “How have you been? A bunch of us were concerned when you didn’t make ...
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As I walk over toward the dance floor, I hear someone call my name. I turn around to see a short woman with brown curls that reach her shoulders smiling at me. I grin as I recognize my old best friend. “Melanie? Melanie Johnson?” I ask, and she nods. I laugh and hug her. “How are you?” “I’m doing alright. Busy, but alright,” she smiles. “Teaching has got me practically pulling my hair out!” We both laugh, and then her face takes on a concerned look. “How have you been? A bunch of us were concerned when you didn’t make it to the funeral.” I feel my brow crease in confusion. “Funeral?” I repeat. “You mean you didn’t even hear?” she asks in amazement. I shake my head. “Aaron O’Brien,” she finally explains. “He committed suicide, right after graduating from university.” “Aaron?” Melanie nods. This is shocking news. In high school, Aaron was what every parent wants for her child: popular, friendly, smart, and star of sports teams and in many, many clubs and activities. Not the type you’d expect to commit suicide. It takes a minute for the information to sink in, and Melanie pats my shoulder awkwardly. “It must’ve happened while I was in Europe,” I say finally. “I travelled across the continent with David…my husband.” Melanie nods understandingly. “We all wondered where you were and if something had happened to you, too. Mike called your mum, but she didn’t tell us very much, just that you weren’t around.” I smile sadly. “I wish I’d known. I would have been there in a heartbeat,” I acknowledge. “I know,” Melanie tells me and squeezes my arm sweetly. “Well, don’t worry about it. Hey, there’s Mike now!” She points toward the doorway, but I don’t see Mike there, just a very handsome man in a three-piece suit with a beautiful woman on his arm. I shake my head. “Where is he?” “Right there, in the doorway, with that girl. Her name’s Jocelyn…they’re getting married next month,” Melanie explains. I have to look again, and I still don’t recognize Mike. In high school, Mike was tall and skinny with long limbs and a long face, not exactly what you would call handsome. Now, he is still tall, but has filled out and looks like an underwear model in build. His sandy hair is combed in a stylish way, and he is showing off a Crest-white smile. The girl on his arm is maybe twenty-one at most, with long blonde curls and a beautiful smile. No wonder he is attracted to her. “Wow…he’s changed a lot!” I exclaim, and Melanie gives me a look, and then smiles. “Well, I suppose, if you haven’t seen him for the past ten years,” she relents. “Hey, look!” She points over in a corner. “Is that John Billings?” I ask, and she nods. John Billings was always the playboy of the class, with at least one girl on each arm. He still looks amazingly good, in a deep black turtleneck sweater and brown pants and a smile. His hair is combed and gelled in a way that makes him look young, but not childish. He is smiling boyishly and spots Melanie and me. We wave and go to talk to him. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t Melanie and Rosie? How are you girls doing?” he asks in a charming voice, giving us both hugs. We answer that we are doing well and he starts to talk to us about his adventures since high school. All is going well, when another very handsome man comes up to us. For a moment, he is silent, and then he hands John a glass of wine. Melanie and I stare at him in shock. “Oh, yes. I forgot…Melanie, Rosie, this is my boyfriend, Darren,” John introduces us, putting an arm around Darren’s waist. Melanie recovers from the shock first and shakes Darren’s hand heartily. I follow suit, but am still dumfounded as we walk away to the dance floor. When we get there, Melanie cracks up laughing. “I never would have guessed,” she finally manages. “Excuse me, Rosie. I’m going to get something to drink.” She is still laughing as she walks away. And I am alone again. For a minute, I try to dance, but change my mind and go to sit down. While I’m sitting, I feel someone tap my shoulder and turn around to see someone I had not been expecting to recognize me: the captain of the football team, Brian Colton. He, unlike most of the football players, has not changed much. There is no beer gut sticking out over his pants. His blonde hair looks just as good as it did when he was in high school. I am ashamed of the rushing of my heartbeat. “Brian,” I greet him softly. “Hi, Rosie,” he says with a smile, taking the seat next to me. “Long time no see.” “Yeah,” I answer, then force myself to start talking about more interesting things. “So how have you been?” “I’ve been alright,” he starts, but then shakes his head. “No. I haven’t. Not really. My wife left me two weeks ago.” I’m stunned to say the least. “Oh, Brian…I’m so sorry.” “It’s not your fault.” There is an awkward pause as we both avoid making eye contact with each other. I try to think of something more comforting to say, but just as I am about to speak, Brian speaks up again. “You know, Rosie…I had the biggest crush on you in high school.” I think he is joking and sort of let out a snorting laugh. “Me? You’re not serious.” The look on his face tells me that he is and I feel my face kind of droop downward. “But Brian…why me? You were this big football player, and I…I was just Rosie…the geek with the glasses and the frizzy hair and her nose always in a book. I…” I sigh. “It’s hard for me to get my head around.” “It’s true, though,” Brian answers, though he isn’t looking at me but at some distant point, as if seeing us as fourteen-year-old children again. He laughs. “I really liked you because you were nothing like the other girls I hung out with… the ‘pretty’ girls. You were unique. I mean, I used to always wonder what you would doodle on the pages of your notebook, what kind of stories you’d tell. But I guess I was a jerk because I wouldn’t let myself wander off from my social circle for you.” “I had a crush on you, too, Brian,” I hear the words come out of my mouth before I can stop them, and suddenly, the skin underneath my wedding band begins to grow damp. “But you were completely unreachable. You were this super-jock, and I was the class geek. I didn’t think there was any way…” “There was, Rosie, there really was.” Brian reaches out and takes my hand, my left hand. He looks down and sees my wedding band and engagement ring and drops my hand just as quickly as he took it. “You’re…you’re married?” I drop my stare and fiddle with my rings. “Yes. I’m not Rosie Hudson anymore…I’m Mrs. Rosie Andrews.” “Oh.” Brian doesn’t look at me anymore, but instead reaches for his empty shot glass. He turns it about in his hands for an uncomfortable moment before standing. “Well, it was nice to see you again, Rosie. I’ll catch you around.” And he disappears into the crowd. I reflect on the strange conversation as I drive home after the reunion, late that night. It occurs to me that it has crossed my mind many times since graduating from school how differently things would have turned out had I acted on my feelings for Brian when we were in high school. My imagination starts leading me into the area of impossible possibilities, but before any situations become clear in my mind, I am home. David is waiting for, and as he kisses me, all of the what ifs vanish and I am left with a warm feeling inside of me. Brian’s confession came ten years too late for anything to be possible…but when I am honest with myself, as I lay my head down on my husband’s chest to sleep, I realize that I wouldn’t have it any other way.
