This isn’t a story about redemption. Yet, at least according to the movies, the Jeffersonville High School class of 1993 reunion should have been just that.
Look at “Grosse Pointe Blank,” or “Romy and Michelle’s High School Reunion” or even “The Big Chill.” In those flicks, the act of getting back together with old classmates always ended fantastically.
The geeky underdogs prevailed. Snotty girls and cruel jocks got their comeuppance. Like in a John Hughes film, a brain, an athlete, a basket case, a princess and a criminal all realize that they’re more than their labels and that they’re not so different after all.
In the cinema, that one special night long after graduation always trumped the 1,460 mostly mundane days of high school years that each one of us had tolerated to get here.
If you haven’t noticed, I’m not a screenwriter. While I’d love to transform our reunion into a monumental action extravaganza that would have Michael Bay foaming at the mouth to direct, that little troublemaker called reality unfortunately once again has tied the hands of this fanciful columnist.
No helicopters carrying filthy rich nerds landed at Wick’s Pizza on Friday night. Few, if any, of the Red Devil alumni have killed the president of Paraguay with a fork. And I doubt highly that a baby was conceived by any old friends at the end of the night.
Although, after witnessing some public displays of affection that would have surely earned a visit to the principal’s office, there’s always a chance that I’ll be proven wrong on that last one.
Even without the theatrics, 20 years can change a person all the same. A few flashes of gray hairs have now replaced our bouffanted bangs of the ’80s. Instead of acne ointments, remnants of correcting creams could be seen after having just been lathered on our aging skin with a feverish delight.