Part I
How are you supposed
to behave at your high school reunion? What are you supposed to say to
the woman who organised the whole event, when she is the person who bullied you
in primary school?
I am in a conundrum
about this milestone of my life. 20 years has passed since I left high school.
It feels like a lifetime. And my memories of my entire school history are
largely miserable.
I’m aware she is a
different person now. We are both adults. She may not even remember me, or that
she teased me and made me an outcast. Her memories of how that played out are
no doubt, totally different to mine. She has created a Facebook event for the
reunion and everyone is posting photos in it. I look through them, and the
comments on them, and it looks like we were all one big happy family, a bunch
of mates having a good time. The reality, well my reality, was that the year
was very divided into a hierarchy of popularity and cliques.
As a kid I’d been very
interested in performing arts, so my mum had me enrolled in drama classes and
got me an agent. I don’t think I was terribly good, but I performed in a few
stage shows and did some TV ads. Rather than elevating my popularity, this had
the opposite effect. I suppose from some sense of jealousy, I was ridiculed and
ostracised. I changed primary schools in year 5 because of the bullying. I
remember before I left that school, a teacher finding me sitting on my lonesome
in the playground and asking me who my best friend was. A pretty strange
question, when it would seem obvious I was friendless, but I scanned the playground
searching for an answer. Eventually I settled on a girl whose mother was
friends with my mum, but in truth she barely spoke to me. I had no friends, let
alone a best friend. I feel like crying for my child-self when I think about
that.
I did better once I
got to high school, the girl who bullied me was back, as were a small group of
others, but once all the cliques were established they largely left me alone.
But I remember the years that followed as filled with that hormone-driven
teenage angst that makes you hate yourself, your family and the entire world. I
really felt I didn’t fit in and I desperately tried to change myself with
make-up, hair dye, even socks in my bra!
I wasn’t especially
unpopular through high school. I had learnt to blend in. I had boyfriends. I
had a best friend, who I shared everything with- clothes, secrets, even
boyfriends. I played sport, albeit very badly. I got okay grades. But still, my
memories hurt.
In the aftermath of
doing our HSC I had a disagreement with my best friend and hung up the phone on
her. We never spoke again. I was devastated, it hurt equally as badly as any
boyfriend break-up I’d been through, probably worse. That friendship finishing
symbolised the end of that era for me.
I went on to drift
away from most of my school friends, only a handful remain. I made new friends,
had more boyfriends, met my husband, travelled. I changed my name when I got
married, it seemed like a good opportunity to shake off the girl of my past and
be someone new, someone better. I even got the nose-job I had wanted throughout
high school.
I now have a husband
I’ve been in love with for 19 years, two gorgeous kids and a career I’ve worked
hard for and am proud of. I should be feeling confident. Yet I’ve been dieting
for a month in anticipation (dread) of this event. Why am I even going then,
you ask? Yeah, I wonder that too. But one of my oldest and dearest friends
talked me into it and I didn’t want to always wonder “what if…?” We discussed
our approach to greetings – she was for hugging and cheek-kisses with everyone
– I was against. I was adamant, there was no way I was pretending these
niceties with people like my former bully.
Part II
So, in answer to my
very first question – how should one behave at one’s 20 year high school
reunion – the answer is this. One should apparently get leglessly drunk,
require carrying out and throw up in the carpark before being taken to a
friends place to sleep it off. This is how the evening unfolded.
After spending an
inordinate amount of time and effort to look as fabulous as possible, we
fronted up (fashionably an hour late). I immediately threw back as much alcohol
as I could find as quickly as possible to quash the nerves that I felt must be written
across my panicked face. The food was awful so I didn’t eat anything, and I
drank nothing but white wine and champagne. A recipe for disaster after a month
off the booze.
The first half hour
comprised awkward, stilted conversations with people I barely remembered, but
then everyone seemed to share my boozy buzz and the socialising flowed more
freely. The men had aged badly,
lots of paunches and receding hairlines. Thanks to the wonders of skincare and
make-up, many of the women looked hardly any different, just older versions of
their teenaged selves. I know it’s pathetic, but I was thrilled to be sought
out by a guy I had crushed on madly in my final year and for him to tell me I looked
great. Suck on that champ, I’m the one that got away!
The conversations I do
remember having were mostly pleasant. I was genuinely pleased to see most of
the people I chatted to, and avoided those who I never spoke much to in school
anyway. My philosophy was, why pretend to be pals now? I was surprised that I
didn’t get asked much about myself, I was expecting to have to give my story
over and over again, but the reality was that a lot of people didn’t ask me
what I did or whether I had a family or anything much like that. There was a
lot of small talk, which is my least favourite kind, but I’m rather glad I
didn’t get into the big topics, particularly considering the inebriated state I
was getting myself in.
And the bully – she
greeted me and kissed me on the cheek! I was furious, but I remained civil and
blew her off as soon as possible.
By the end of the
night, well 11.30, I went to the bathroom and the room was spinning. I was
rescued by a friend who performed the heroic deed of whisking me out of there
to puke in the carpark, before taking me back to her place and putting me to
bed.
And then it was over.
I survived it. I had moments of feeling like that kid again, afraid of feeling
insignificant or invisible, or worse, like a laughing stock. There were no
revelations. No-one was a shining star, no-one was bullied (or at least not
that I saw). We were just a bunch of adults still trying to work out how to
navigate this world. I didn’t re-establish any lost bonds or create any new
ones. A bunch of people tried to add me on Facebook afterwards - including the bully! But I think I'll graciously decline. My curiosity is satisfied but I think I’ll leave the past in the past, and pass on the next reunion
(or at least the drinking part of it).
