AS TIME GOES BY

by Kathleen Chamberlin
 

     She didn't know why she was nervous as she approached the placard reading Class of 66 Reunion, straight ahead, through the open doors. She gazed into the dimly lit room, taking in the joyful group of people hugging and squealing in delight at being reunited after 25 years. She had been reluctant to attend. But here I am, she thought, for better or worse. She shivered slightly, feeling exposed and vulnerable. A quick glance in the mirror to check her appearance. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and went in.

      Her eyes darted quickly around the room, searching. They stopped on a dark-haired, tall man laughing. Like every cliché in every romance novel, she found the room around him blurred, his the only face she could see. Pulse quickened and blood pounding in her ears, she threaded her way across the room toward Michael, drawn by an irresistible force. Placing her palm on his chest, her lips lightly brushed his cheek.

    “Hey, you.”

     He looked into her eyes and they stood there a moment locked in a sphere of intimacy that belied the passage of time.

    “Hey, you,” he replied.

     A slow song was just beginning and without a word, he led her onto the dance floor. Swaying gently together as Barbra Streisand plaintively sang of the way we were, they were transported to a time when their teenage bodies, innocent but ripe for the passion that would soon overtake them, clung together hungrily, pressed as tightly to one another as possible, trembling with desire and anticipation. Now, in the dimly lit ballroom, they danced with the decorum approved for their ages, remembering the sublime closeness of lovers, though their current lovers weren't one another.   

     As the song reached its crescendo, he drew her closer and whispered, “Takes you back, doesn't it?” It was less a question than a statement of fact, a recognition that their bodies and minds moved to a rhythm established long ago, at school dances or parties in friends' basements, moving to the 45s that dropped one by one onto the turntable. She sighed, allowing her head to briefly rest on his shoulder as Barbra sang out the last mournful notes. “Yes” was all she said. They stepped slightly away from one another drinking in the pleasure of this dance, at this time, in this place.

     Life had given them a plan very different from the one they had dreamed of over long conversations on the phone. Their parents had worried that these children, embryonic adults though they were, needed to be closely monitored.

     All their best efforts had been in vain, as the pair found secret places, hidden from prying eyes, to stoke the smoldering fires growing within them. Tentatively taking a step further each time they came together, their passion grew until it could no longer be contained. They left the supervision of the high school library, and climbed through the window of the auxiliary gym. Once inside, they were heedless of everything but one another, deleriosly freed from constraints.

     “Hey you,” he'd said, “are you okay?”

     “Oh, yes,” she breathed, and reached up to kiss him.

     She had embraced their intimacy because she loved him, believed that he loved her, and that they would spend their lives together. From that time forward, they took every opportunity to bask in the afterglow of sex. And the inevitable happened near the end of senior year.

     She broke the news to her best friend, trembling as she told her that she was “late.” They both knew what that meant. Amid tears and fear and guilt, she had reached a decision. The path forward was perilous, but she would terminate the pregnancy, she told him. In anguish, she explained how difficult the decision was, but that she was determined not to shame her family or force him into a shotgun wedding.

     “We'd grow to hate each other and resent the child and I couldn't bear that, I just couldn't.” Her tears were uncontrollable as she held his hand.

     “Say something, please.”

       He looked at the ground as if he could find the words to say that were right and true. He finally swallowed and faced her.

     “Okay, if that's what you want.”

     “I don't want it. I don't know what else to do! I wish it never happened,” she wailed.

     “Are you blaming me?” he asked, determined to absolve himself of the source of her pain.

     “I blame us both,” she whispered hoarsely, dropping his hand, vulnerable and broken.

     He swallowed hard. “Okay. Do you need money for the...you know?” He squirmed at how cold it sounded. 

     Without looking up she shook her head. “No, I've got enough. I can call you, you know, afterwards, if you want.”

     “Yeah, sure, I guess, yeah, call me.”

     She didn't have to. Two days before her arranged meeting, the cramps began. She waited a few days and then called him. Once the crisis had passed, he acted as if it had never happened. If he didn't want to talk about it, she wouldn't. For the rest of the summer, it remained unacknowledged but lurking just out of sight: the dark secret of what she had been prepared to do.

     When fall approached, the fall that would separate them by hundreds of miles, she grew more melancholy. 

     “Hey, you, what's wrong?” he asked, uncertain if he wanted to hear the answer. She turned to him, eyes glistening with tears threatening to unleash a flood of emotion. He watched apprehensively, but she was able to gain control, offering a weak smile.

     “It's all coming so fast, isn't it? I guess I'm just not ready to,” she shrugged her shoulders and pointed around, “leave. Here. This life. You.” She shifted her weight from her right hip to her left. Shaking her head, she looked up at him. “Silly, isn't it?”

     He drew her in quickly, resting his chin on her head and stroking her hair. “No. Not at all.”

     They'd left for school right after Labor Day, promising to write and call and they did for the first two months. Then the letter came that broke her heart.

     “Hey, you,” it began, as all their letters did. Then it launched into a litany of his classes and dorm life and his decision to pledge a fraternity, but not ending not with “Yours, you know.” Instead, she read the deadening “I think we should go out with other people, to know for sure, if we belong together.”

     There was no misunderstanding his intentions and she clutched the crumpled letter to her chest, aware of what she had to do. That Sunday night, she called him, bravely agreeing how sensible a decision it was and that she wholeheartedly agreed. By mid-term break, they were no longer together.

     That had been twenty-five years ago and though they'd heard about each other's comings and goings over the years, tonight was the first time they were together again. Strange, she thought, as they walked over to the bar, it feels so natural to be here with him. So comfortable, as if the intervening years had never happened. But they had, she reminded herself. They had.

     As they waited for the bar tender to get their drinks, they looked out at their former classmates. The quarterback she had briefly dated had gained a few pounds but was certainly recognizable as he stood together with the other sports team veterans. The class choice for “Most Athletic” still looked it, his 6'5" frame resting easily in a chair. She noticed the Homecoming Queen still held court over a dozen suitors jockeying for her attention, bringing to mind Scarlett O'Hara at Twelve Oaks. The years had been kind to her, at least superficially.

     “A penny for your thoughts,” he said handing her a glass of white wine. 

     “I was just wondering how Sondra always manages to attract men. Do you think she casts spells like Circe? Is there some Siren Song she sings? What do you think it is?”

     He answered without hesitation “There's an unspoken promise in her eyes. An invitation in her smile. Unlimited passion for the right man.”

     She laughed. “Speaking from experience?” she teased. Shaking his head, he pointed to Kevin. “Victim 19 told me. I was immune. You were the one who turned me on.”

     His overt reference to their love affair unbalanced her, caught between a ‘there and then’ when, as a fourteen year old, she'd fallen head over heels for him on the first day of classes sophomore year, and the ‘here and now,’ when as a 41 year old, she was no longer the dewy-eyed innocent she once was.

      The quarterback caught her eye and smiled as she raised her glass in acknowledgment. He edged around the dancers and wrapped himself around her in a growling bear hug, lifting her off her feet. In his unmistakable booming voice, he declared “Katie, Katie, Katie-girl! You look good enough to eat” and pretended to nibble at her neck, lips smacking. Trying not to spill her drink, but caught up in his antics, she couldn't help but laugh, struggling half-heartedly to escape.

     “Billy, stop,” she giggled, drawing her head back in mock resistance before returning his hug. He released her, stepped back and eyed her companion. “My, my, my! What have we here? Don't tell me.” Glass waving, eyes closed briefly, right hand to his brow in imitation of deep thought, he thrummed his fingers. Opening his eyes and smiling, certain he had the solution to the questions that had baffled humanity for ages, he narrowed his gaze, looking from one of them to the other. “I have somehow found a wormhole and been transported to 1966, right? Either that or the single malt is making me hallucinate the same shit head who was always my rival for your affection.”

     It was said with Billy's boisterous, over the top laughter as he thrust out his hand to Michael. “Peace, brother. Good to see you.” Then he turned to Katie, lifting her hand to his lips in mock reverence, bowing slightly. “My lady, you owe me a dance for old time's sake and I shall return to collect it.” Then, he turned, crouching and growling like a lion stalking his prey. Sneaking behind an unsuspecting classmate, he buried his face in her ribs. She turned laughing with pleasure. “Oh Billy! Stop it you animal!” and hurled herself into his outstretched arms.

     Some things remain unchanged, Katie thought, casting her eyes around the room populated by former classmates who had traveled many miles from places as far away as Alaska and Hawaii. The girl who had been voted Best Looking still was, elegantly dressed and coiffed but her male counterpart hadn't aged as well, his receding hairline and spreading waistline eroding his former glory. The Class President had continued his interest in politics by running for office on the state level and making a name for himself as a civil rights advocate. The class songstress had had a brief run in an off-Broadway play that received mixed reviews but the class actor had been luckier, catapulting to stardom after his role in The Deer Hunter had received Oscar buzz. She noticed him casually leaning against a balcony, smiling and laughing. To her he was still the Johnny who had suffered stage fright before their 8th grade play, not the Sebastian Summers whose face was plastered on movie billboards. He had kept in touch with her over the years, telling her he needed to remember his roots and stay grounded. She waved at him and mouthed the word “Later.” He gave her a thumbs up and nodded before she felt herself being spun around and crushed in an awkward embrace.

     Pulling back, she found herself looking into the eyes of Richard Torrance, voted Most Likely to Succeed. And, she knew, he had, earning millions as a hedge fund czar. She tried to extricate herself but he wasn't having it and she decided if he didn't let her go, a well-placed knee to the groin might be necessary. It wasn't. At that moment, as if reading her mind, he let go.

     “Katie McCoy, the real McCoy, where have you been hiding yourself these past 25 years?”

     His voice still remained vigorous with a seductive edge. Katie found it repellent, nonetheless. She remembered the day near the end of senior year when he had suggested that what she needed most was a good tumble in the grass beyond the football field and that he would provide her with an unforgettable memory to take away to college. She had stared at him then, wrinkled her nose in disgust and said, “Not in this lifetime,” as she stormed off. Now, here he was, boorish as ever, flaunting his wealth and success, dropping names of his associates and friends as if they could disguise who he was at his core: a cold, ruthless ladder climber, a scoundrel and a cad.

     “Richard, you haven't changed one bit in 25 years, have you?”

     He grinned sheepishly but met the challenge head on. “Yes and no. I'm extraordinarily successful in the business world but still yearning for the one that got away. There really is only one real McCoy, Katie, and it's always been you.”          

     She stared him down, took a sip of wine. “Am I supposed to swoon now and fall into your arms? Seriously, Rich, that's just not happening. I will give you this, though. This gambit is definitely a step above your contemptible proposition senior year when...”

     He groaned in agony, stopping her in mid-sentence.

     “SHIT! I hoped you had forgotten that.” He hung his head in an approximation of sincerity. “I made a fool of myself. And of all the things you could remember about me, I thought you couldn't possibly remember that. I mean, why would you?”

     She didn't hesitate to provide him with the answer. “You did me a favor. You showed me that men can be crude. That sex is just another appetite to be fed and anyone willing to participate is acceptable. Your line is smoother now, I'll give you that. And it seems to have worked. What wife are you on? I forget. Three, four? Not sure about the mistresses but I'm certain they exist. You just can't help yourself, Rich, let's face it. But rest assured,” she said patting him on the arm, “my name will never be added to your list of the conquered and abandoned. Now, excuse me, I see Eleanor.”

     Eleanor, her best friend then and now, had already been heading in her direction and they met half way. “What load of crap was Torrance shoveling your way?” Eleanor asked,  assuming that with Richard Torrance, it was always crap.       

     “Well,” she said after giving Eleanor a quick hug, “he invoked my high school nickname and, after attempting to paw me, told me I was the one that got away.”

     Eleanor laughed. “That's his 5th attempt tonight. He even tried it out on me. There must be a dearth in eligible naive young things impressed by his wallet this time of year.”

     As they continued their conversation, joined every so often by another classmate or two, Katie was reminded of a constantly shifting kaleidoscope, with the sparkling jewelry and various colors worn to show off the best attributes that remained from the glory days of adolescence.

     As the dinner buffet was about to open, she and Eleanor chose their seats at a table just off the dance floor, near the door. They were staying overnight at the hotel, sharing a room across the hall from two other high school friends. The rooms were stocked with late night snacks and a bottle of Jack Daniels. The foursome was planning a post-reunion pajama party, where Eleanor declared they were allowed to be as catty as their alcohol loosened tongues could manage. Katie knew that Eleanor looked forward to Katie casting aside her cautious and circumspect demeanor to let her claws emerge, as Eleanor was accustomed to do without the crutch of alcohol.

     The table for 8 soon squeezed in 10 and Katie McCoy was once again among the people who 25 years ago made her smile and laugh. Being with them was like slipping into a favorite pair of well-worn jeans. They fit so well and were as comfortable as a second skin.

     Michael was seated nearby, joking with the circle of guys who used to be his constant companions but who had faded from his life over the years. But here they all were again, shedding the lives they'd lived, taking their places in the pecking order high school had rigidly demanded. She smiled. Well, hadn't she? Other than Eleanor, most of her friends were one or two phone calls a year along with Christmas and birthday greetings. Yet, here she was, enjoying the banter with friends as if they'd seen each other yesterday.

     “So, El, which one are you tonight, Horatio or Hamlet?”

     It had been during their junior English class when no one would volunteer to read the parts of Hamlet or Horatio that the best friends became linked to the two characters. In exasperation, Mr. Andrews had pointed first at Katie and then at Eleanor, declaring, “You two. Pick a part and I don't care who's Hamlet and who's Horatio.” It had stuck. Throughout their lives, whichever of them was experiencing emotional upheaval would call the other with the greeting, “Horatio? Hamlet here. I seek your counsel.”

     “That remains to be seen,” Eleanor laughed, but as she watched Michael beckon Katie to the dance floor as The Association sang “Cherish,” she had a feeling that she'd be donning the garb of Horatio, the trusted friend to whom Katie's Hamlet would unburden her soul. “The play's the thing,” she thought before being swept onto the dance floor herself.

     Were all eyes on them, Katie wondered, waiting to see if they would seek out the privacy of the garden patio despite the evening's chill? Was she somehow hoping he'd whisper that very thing into her ear as he pulled her into an even closer embrace? Michael softly sang the lyrics, humming when his memory failed to retrieve them, and if Katie closed her eyes, it would be easy to step through the curtain of time and erase the years that separated her from her younger self.

     All too soon, the song ended, leaving couples to untangle from each other as a louder, more animated "Do you Love Me?" blasted out over the sound system and classmates, singing along with enthusiasm, crowded the dance floor. Billy spun her around and, tie loosened and off-center, sport coat abandoned on some table, began to dance with drunken abandon, bellowing at Katie, “do you love me” while twirling her round and round under his arm. She looked at him with real affection, knowing that their friendship would endure. As the song ended, he put both hands around her neck, pressed his forehead against hers and said, “I love you, Katie-girl. I always will.”

     “Back at you, Billy. You're one in a million.”

     He kissed her cheek, stepped back and made an elegant sweeping bow before reacting to Cora Newman who had grabbed him by his loosened tie and dragged him off to the raucous laughter of their friends as he exclaimed, “Sadie Hawkins is alive and well!”

     Looking to replenish her drink, Katie walked over to the nearest bar. Eleanor joined her. “Whew! I just can't dance the way I used to. I'm going to have the worst aching calves tomorrow.”

     Katie nodded. “Tell me about it. But poor Billy!” she said gesturing in his direction. “He's not only not going to be able to move, but his head will most likely not stop pounding for the next three days.”

     “Soooo,” Eleanor asked and although Katie knew exactly what Eleanor was asking, but played dumb.

     “Sooo, what?”

     Eleanor rolled her eyes. “Michael.”

     “Oh, that.”

     “Yes, that.”

     Katie shrugged. “Nothing to tell.”

     That was the truth, wasn't it? They had shared a dance or two, had felt the magic of rapture remembered, ignoring their present reality. That's what reunions were all about, weren't they? A chance to step through time, remembering who they once had been as well as showing off who they were now. Some had shed their former selves, no longer caterpillars, but emerging from the chrysalis as magnificent butterflies anxious to be admired. Others held on to their privileged places in the social hierarchy, climbing still higher in the passing years. Everyone else had simply stayed away.

     “Really, El, nothing to tell.”

     Eleanor let it drop. Now wasn't the time.

     On the evening went, people discarded their shoes and jackets, ties and cameras, in an attempt at comfort. Almost as if they had been locked inside their adult selves, once they had shed those trappings, they were free to just BE. That's how Katie felt, at least. She was enjoying the moment, not thinking about her life beyond these walls, nor of the myriad things that would await her tomorrow and the day after. There was only tonight and she drank it in hungrily.

     As if on cue, the dj selected The Mello-Kings' "Tonight, Tonight" and with the opening chords, the room echoed with the nostalgic sighs of grown women remembering the aching adolescent passions that had accompanied this song. Immediately, she was in Michael's arms again, helpless against the surging emotions she no longer wanted to resist, abandoning herself to the moment.

     They clung to one another, reaching back through all the years, in secret acknowledgment of the intensity they had once shared, resurrected by this song, on this night, in this place, hoping that the night would never reach an end. But both the song and the evening would.

     Later, as she and Eleanor walked to their room, Eleanor observed her friend carefully but Katie wasn't revealing anything. She remained quiet among their friends and their snacks as the others reviewed their evening, even when one of them asked, “Sooo, who got chills dancing with their old flame?” The conversation lasted until everyone's yawns signaled the evening was over.

     “See you at breakfast, ladies,” Eleanor sang out, crossing the hallway to their door, only to hear groaning at the prospect of an early wake up call. Katie hesitated in the doorway. “El,” she said quietly, “I'm not coming in yet. I've got my key so, I'll be back in a bit.” Eleanor didn't have to ask where Katie was going as she watched her friend enter the elevator.

     Some time later, she woke to Katie entering the room, shoes in hand, trying not to wake her friend as she undressed in the dark.

     “Katie?” She probed.

     “Sorry, El. I didn't mean to wake you.”

     “Michael?”

     “Yes.”

     “Wanna talk?”

     “Tomorrow. Tonight's not the time.”

     “Okay. Tomorrow.”

     Eleanor rolled over and fell back to sleep while Katie remained awake in the dark, holding the night tightly until she, too, fell asleep.

     Breakfast came and went as did the members of her class, each hug goodbye accompanied by a promise to keep in touch, well-intentioned promises, but promises that would go unfulfilled. She spotted Michael across the room and exchanged smiles with him. They had said their goodbye last night. He waved, then put his hand on his heart before turning and once more walking out of her life.

     “Oh, Horatio,” Katie nodded in his direction but kept a brave face, “what a sad tale I have to tell.” And she did, later, when nearly everyone was gone and she and Eleanor were holding on to their dwindling time together before they caught their rides to the airport. They would return to their present lives, in distant cities, last night becoming one more memory that would fade, despite the prominence it now held. And then it was time to go.

     Eleanor heard the news about Billy first. She dialed Katie. Once Katie answered, Eleanor delivered her message calmly. Billy had been in a serious car accident and had not survived.

     After that, Katie didn't attend the reunions that occurred every five years. When asked why, she said “Because the memory of Billy will be there and another one or more of us will be gone and that will just make me sad. Better to leave the past where it belongs. That's where we're all alive and anticipating our futures.”

     Eleanor did attend and would update Katie on those others who returned like the sparrows of Capistrano. Years passed, lives changed, classmates vanished from their lives. Michael's name came up in their conversations, but Katie wasn't inclined to indulge in self-pity and Eleanor would not pressure her friend to reopen a healed wound.

     Going through her mail one April afternoon while on the phone with Eleanor, Katie came across an envelope with an unfamiliar return address but written in a clear, bold handwriting, addressed to her. Sliding her finger under the flap while balancing the phone on her shoulder, she scanned the contents and cut Eleanor off in mid-sentence. “I'll call you back. I gotta go.” The click signaling she was gone surprised Eleanor. That wasn't like Katie.

     Katie sank onto a kitchen chair, holding the letter in shaking hands and read the letter over again, from the beginning.

     “Dear Ms. McCoy, I am writing to let you know that my father, Michael McCain, passed away last week after a long illness. As his daughter and executrix, I was responsible for settling his estate. In his safety deposit box was the enclosed envelope with your name on it and instructions to deliver it to you upon his death. It has remained sealed as its contents are meant only for you. I found your address and on Dad's behalf, I am sending it to you. Sincerely, Erica Sullivan.”

       Katie could barely breathe. Tears stung her eyes. Michael was dead? Michael was dead? How could that be true?  Her breathing became more erratic as the sobs rose in her chest, bursting forth and shaking her to the core. "Oh, Michael, Michael!  I am so sorry, so, so sorry you're gone.” She whispered the words to the air, overcome by emotion. How could he have left the world and she not known it? Not felt a cosmic shift? Not felt the light in her life flicker and dim, everything forever changed?

     She held the unopened envelope, recognizing Michael's distinctive block printing. Wiping her tears, she struggled to open it, not knowing what she'd find inside, but knowing that this remnant of him was a precious artifact and must be handled with care. She put it down, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, hugging herself tightly. When she felt sufficiently calmed, she picked up the letter again, more carefully this time, managing to open it with only one jagged corner. She took the paper out and read.

     “Hey you,” it began. “I'm writing this to you on the plane while everything about last night is still fresh in my mind and I find myself recalling every minute and smiling. If you're reading this, though, it means I've “shuffled off this mortal coil,” from what I remember of that soliloquy we had to memorize. I try not to dwell on the death part, but I guess it will come to all of us sooner or later. Anyway, here's what I want you to know. I think you and I met too soon. I wasn't ready to be the man you needed. And I regret that. But when I saw you again at this weekend's reunion, I saw a chance of, I guess, redemption, like that movie you made me watch with Humphrey Bogart telling the woman in the big hat--you know who I mean--that they'll always have Paris, that they'd lost it, but got it back again. You cried when he said that, and as she got on the plane. 'They know they love each other,' you said, 'but fate, or time, or whatever keeps them apart.' Like us, I guess, though I didn't know it then. We didn't have Paris, just a glorious night in a modest hotel room on Long Island. And in case I didn't tell you this last night, I want you to know that I love you. And since I am already gone, I am so sorry for not telling you sooner. Maybe our lives would have been different. Anyway, now I've told you. Be happy. Yours, you know, Michael.”

     Katie read the letter over and over, through a veil of tears until she was sure she'd remember every word. She folded it and slowly walked to her bedroom. She opened her jewelry box, removing the top tray to reveal a charm bracelet and an ankle bracelet, both unworn for decades and both from Michael. She placed his letter alongside them, a final gift to be cherished. She replaced the tray and shut the lid. She walked to the kitchen, picked up the phone and dialed. She heard the hello on the other end and with her voice breaking, all she could get out was a tremulous “Horatio?”

     “Katie, what happened?”

     Through her tears, Katie said, “Oh, El...”

* * * * *

Kathleen Chamberlin is a retired educator living in Albany, New York. Her writing has appeared in both print and electronic journals and in several anthologies, including Chicken Soup for the Soul: Attitude of Gratitude. She enjoys gardening, genealogy, and grandchildren.