I just got back from a reunion. Usually, these things are pretty much fun, but this one had me quaking in my boots beforehand. This was a reunion of my graduate school classmates: 45 years have passed since I had seen any of them. But, motivated by the infrequent "I wonder what ever happened to..." thought, I signed up. Another reason I decided to go was that somebody had had to do some digging to find me. While I got married just before I left school, I doubt that anyone remembered my married name. Also, I'd deserted my biochemical career shortly after I left, and had moved 12 times since my days in Charlottesville. If someone had found me after all that, there would surely be someone to talk to.
There were more than a few people I was looking for. A former lab mate, a couple guys I had dated, a guy who was brilliantly into computers and biophysics, a couple resident free spirits, people who had helped me through three years of grad school classes and research, and had become what I viewed as family. Somehow, we never kept up after leaving Charlottesville.
I can say now that the three years I spent with those folks were a pivotal point in my life. Literally. I arrived there in a straight line from my life in Baltimore: childhood, high school, college, home--and, in Charlottesville, took a sharp right (or maybe left) turn into independence: no rules, no responsibilities for (or to) anyone else unless I chose them, no one to depend on, except myself. I did a lot of stupid things, both personal and academic, but somehow survived, and grew up. I grew up. And these were the people who were the backdrop to all that. Adding to the general angst was the fact that I had left sans degree. I studied and worked for three years and then gave it up to marry and go to California, while everyone else (I presumed) stuck it out. Frightening to revisit a group that had witnessed that, who knew me when, and could judge me now. Not knowing what to expect in that regard, I packed and repacked (what will I wear? How will I look?), and worried and even considered backing out. I didn't.
So, this is what I found. Other people left, too (though usually for nobler reasons like med school or dental school). Some people hadn't changed a bit. We all still got along. It was interesting to hear what happened between then and now. Jobs, marriages, moves. Where faculty members were/ are. Who had died, who was still working, who had retired. Snippets of the past--old stories--interwoven with the present. How we all got from there to here, and some of the steps along the way.
No one told their complete stories--like how Howard moved from neurosciences to professional gambler, and how he came to marry a law professor along the way. Like what became of Dick's first wife (who we all knew and loved) and what she was doing now. And how Gil transitioned from eye proteins to being the liaison between business and research at Duke. How did Maureen end up in Texas practicing medicine--and where the hell was Michele, who had called several of us and urged us to come--then never appeared herself? And for me, how spooky it was to find that my former fiancé remembered a lot more than I expected, and had even come up with our California address, and knew much more about my life after Charlottesville than I did his.
Add to all of this that I was introducing JC to these people whom he may have met a time or two, mostly at our wedding (and who remembers who you've talked to when you're the bride or groom?) Bizarre, after 45 years of knowing pretty much everybody that either one of us knew, introducing a whole new cast of characters that even I was uncertain about, but had talked about over the years. And how many of my stories had morphed into at least partial fiction over the years, having been exaggerated, amplified, and modified along the way? I made JC promise not to relate any of those stories--just in case my version differed from other people's. Even I was not sure of the truth by now.
Everyone was older--some unrecognizably so--but there were many of the same smiles, the same postures, the same memories (well, nearly the same). There were lots of 'used to be's in our conversations, and a small and civilized debate about where we used to get 'grills with' (The White Spot, and if you have to ask what they are, you were at the wrong reunion.) There was talk about reuniting in San Antonio for a look at the next major eclipse. Dick said his house was on the path and he had plenty of room. Don agreed to take care of notifications, so we can plan our own get-together in five years. Maybe we will, or maybe we won't. Who knows, when you are in your 70s or 80s, who will be able to make the trip? Whatever happens, we had this weekend, and we certainly had our own bit of history.
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