Going Backwards - Nancy Cech

I scan the room looking for familiar faces. What was I thinking? I barely knew anyone 20 years ago when I was still in High School, much less now. I had a few close friends that I still kept in touch with and none of them wanted to attend this reunion. So I here I am at the country club, a glass of red wine in one hand, and an adhesive backed “My Name is..” sticker on my chest. The women all looked great. Tan and taut. Tennis had served them well. The guys? Well there were a few too many crushed velvet jackets that had found their way out of the closet. And unfortunately many of them no longer closed across the bellies.

“Why are you going? You didn’t like them then. Why go now?” I couldn’t answer the questions my friends asked. What was this pull to go backwards. It was like one of the rip tides at the beach near my middle school. I spent ages 11 to 13 at a school overlooking one of the most beautiful beaches on the Pacific Coast. Close enough you could run across the street and down to the beach before the lunch bell rang. I had been known as one of the cliff dwellers. We hung out at the beach teaching each other how to roll joints and to talk about sex. RAT beach, that’s where we hung out, which was named for “right after torrance” not the obvious answer. That deceptive current at that cove that could take you out to sea in a minute if you didn’t pay close attention.

So what drew me back? It was the first time visiting since I left for college. Malls filled the fields where we grazed the horses. The bridle trail which served as the median for the primary drives looked like an air strip. Once canopied by eucalyptus trees, the trails were now surrounded by tent poles. The borer beetle had come through and stripped most of the trees bare. What was once the lush textured memories of my childhood now looked like Mount St Helens.

A woman comes up to me slowly, calls my name and gives me a hug. “Oh I’ve been wanting to thank you for years. You don’t know how much our friendship meant to me. You were there when I most needed someone the most. I was a mess when I was going through that with thing with my mom. Thank you. Thank you. You saved me. I don’t think I would have made it without you.” I look into her face searching for clues. How could I have forgotten something that was so vitally important to someone else. Some of the memories slowly came back. Her name. Sitting in the library during lunch together. Her hair. Her hair was exactly the same. But I couldn’t remember her pain. Was it because my own at the time was such a rich pool that hers seemed like a puddle? Or had too much time passed.

I expected a “reunion” to do that “re” unite me with my past, that I would find some anchors in there. Instead I found that going back was more like going backwards and i wanted nothing to do with it.