The Party Is Over

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As I commence committing this virtual ink to the virtual parchment’s field of white, I presume that MY… strike that… THEIR two day duration, 50th class reunion had ended at the predesignated, Saturday night into Sunday morn, midnight hour; that (having slept off their hangovers) THEY, who had journeyed, from both near and far, are now (or soon will be) homeward bound; aloft in the unfriendly skies or grounded on the concrete and asphalt thoroughfares.

The operative word being “presume”; seeing how, tho invited, I had opted not to attend. How come?

Long Story Short… Such a decision was/is out of my ongoing deference towards the unpredictable nature of the still rampaging, multiple coronavirus variants, and, more to my main point, was/is totally consistent with my contention…

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Not everyone is dying to relive their K thru 12 experience.

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My intent had been to shun all “classmates” who had actively shunned me as well as the passive types who had “merely looked the other way.” Let’s cut to the chase. Sadistic bullies had mercilessly assaulted me (verbally and physically) from 4th thru 8th grades (inclusive) and had marginalized me thereafter. Hence, my Graduation Day, muttered under the breath, vow to never, ever stagger thru any of their Ground Zero-esque, class reunion rubble.

Short Story Somewhat Longer… the following clickable content will relate the rest of the story. For those with time constraints, I highly recommend Part 2…

Suffice to say, on this “morning after”… now morphing into the afternoon after… I find myself sufficiently curious; oddly awash with second guessing. I cannot help but wonder if, at any point of these weekend festivities, I’d have discovered…

  • Bygone tormentors who had finally grown up enough to behave in a more civil manner?
  • Any of my outcast compatriots scattered amongst the attendees?

All things considered… long sigh… case closed… no real regrets…

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Be people Vaxxed OR Unvaxxed, We
can still shed and spread the batcrap
crazy contagious coronavirus which,
in turn, spawns new variants; which,
in turn, could, eventually, render the
available vaccines worthless; which,
in turn, will drag out the pandemic’s
needless suffering, illness and death!

HENCE… this easy as pie, cover your
nose and pie-hole/hole-up heads-up:

Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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Yawwwnnn… Uh… Excuse Me…

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Since late November, my landline’s answering machine has been working overtime. Nearly lost within the phalanx of telemarketers, robocallers, interest rate slashers and revenuer scammers, has been Sharon, a former classmate, who’s taken on the task of organizing our 50th high school class reunion.

Admittedly, even her mentioning her maiden name had failed to ring a bell. I had to blow off a thick layer of yearbook dust just to stir a vague recollection. Had I actually picked up the handset, that would’ve been our very first conversation, ever.

Well, since then, she’s called two more times; perhaps more, considering all the logged, no-message-left hang-ups. Hmm, might her persistence indicate she’s been encountering other classmates’ yawns, too? I dunno.

So, why my own reluctance to talk to her? Well… let’s just say that not everyone winds up with fuzzy, fond memories of their K thru 12 public school experience.

Unless one has a yen for PAIN, who’d ever yearn for the “good old days” of being subjected to snooty, snotty, yer-not-good-enough-to-be-in-our-clique ‘tudes and, worse yet, getting bullied into prolonged stretches of emotionally devastating, social isolation.

Granted, I don’t believe Sharon to have been an ally of my tormentors; she may have even been oblivious to all that crap. While I am tempted to return her calls to clue her in, truth be told, I’d much rather have her equate my telephone silence to my no-show intentions. Having yet to attend even one class reunion, why would I start now?

For fleeting moments, I’ve even entertained the notion that some of those bullies may have outgrown their odious, immature personae. Yet, why risk facing down further disappointments; indignities? To flesh that out, who’d ever want to hobnob with Mister Mike, who I’m sure still sports his permanently plastered on, I-know-something-you-don’t-and-you’re gonna die, menacing, ear-to-ear sneer.

Transcending all of that psychodrama enters the coronavirus, marching in lockstep with the ever-growing phalanx of deadly, batcrap contagious, cohort variants. Who knows, the “festivities” could all play out as a Zoom Reunion Yawner.

There’s no way in Hell that this 50th reunion will be 2022’s “to die for” event… well… unless Covid-19 crashes the party.

And ya gotta know that bugger WILL be eagerly RSVP’ing its YES!

Soooooo, Sharon, if you, somehow, get to read this, know that I’ll be RSVP’ing my NO!

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Stay Publicly / Properly Masked!
Stay Safe at Home!
Stay Healthy!

-30-

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