Saturday, October 6, 2018

Back at college

“Look how nice you two look! Go stand on the stairs so I can take a picture.” Allison had a bit of fun treating us like we were headed to prom. Thankfully no dancing would be required; we were going to the alumni banquet at my college.

We did look nice. I wore the navy dress I wore on our date to the symphony, and Blaine went with a classic navy suit, white shirt and paisley tie in blues and grays that did nice things for his eyes. It will never get old.

The whole evening was very nice. The college gets fancy for alumni. There was a reception held in a part of the student center that was added soon after I graduated. One side of the room is glass. In my day the view would have been of a gravel service road and maintenance buildings; now it overlooks a terrace and lawn.

In the reception area there was a wine bar. A string quartet, presumably music majors, provided background music. There were large arrangements of flowers and subtle lighting bright enough to allow people to read name tags but soft enough to help keep the older alumni from looking their age.

The part of the evening I’ll remember best is when I gave our names at the registration table and the person crossing names off the attendee list looked up. “Oh, you’re the one Dr. Moran asked about. He asked us to find him when you checked in.”

Moran, as I always called him, is an English lit professor with whom Mica and I had a special rapport. In his spare time he tried to turn us into proper scholars, and we attempted to broaden his thinking by introducing him to pop culture, specifically the “hair bands” that were popular then. I only took two of his classes, one being senior seminar. I double majored so I was researching and writing two theses that semester. Since I didn’t consider English my primary major, I put less effort into it especially during periods when I felt particularly burned out. Moran was sympathetic and stuck with me, challenging and cajoling until I finally finished.

One of the students on hand to help where needed was sent to find Moran in the crowd and bring him over. “There you are,” he said warmly and as if he had been searching for me for the past umpteen years. We talked for quite awhile. He was the first, but not last, to ask if I was still writing and to scold me when I answered.

During the reception, I spoke to another faculty member from the English department. I was surprised he remembered me since I had only had him for one class, but then he said he had helped organize this special edition of the lit magazine. He said the members of the selection committee were from outside the college, most faculty at other institutions and a few published authors or poets. He introduced me to the professor who currently teaches the fiction classes. He was familiar with me through the professor who had taught those classes when I was there (she retired a few years ago). None of this was bad for the ego.

When Blaine and I were on our own again, I told him I suddenly felt like I had followed the wrong road.

Other than faculty, I saw one person I recognized as being from my class, and I did my best to keep out of her line of sight. She was a lot to take when we were college. She may have mellowed over the years but I wasn’t willing to chance it. I also didn’t want to go through the are-you-married, any-kids, oh-that’s-too-bad drilling she was sure to give me.

I said hello to someone I had gone to high school then college with. We were never more than acquaintances along the way but he’s always enthusiastic when our paths cross. After that, a woman approached me. I recognized her maiden name but couldn’t really place how she knew me. From classes, obviously, but no idea which ones. I’m thrown when people remember me, probably because I've spent much of my life hoping to blend into the background where I could go unnoticed.

The dinner was long. There were many awards presented to notable alumni and some of them had more than a few words to say. The seating chart had landed us at a table with others formerly involved with the lit magazine. The man next to me had graduated 12 years before I did. He was chatty and happy to be back. With a laugh, he said some were having all the “authors” (quotation marks mine) sign their pieces. He held out a pen and a copy of the magazine, which I hadn’t yet seen. I checked the Table of Contents to figure out which pages to turn to. I signed the pages quickly and passed the magazine back. I could feel Blaine looking at me. When I glanced at him, he smiled. I leaned toward him. “Please never speak of this.”

The ceremony included recognition of the magazine. Two of us had both fiction and poetry selected and we were recognized individually. Had to stand. Could have lived without that. I was mentioned once more because I had been the first recipient to receive a particular writing award. The family who endowed it were receiving one of the most prestigious awards given to alumni.

As we left the banquet room after dinner, there was a table with the magazines displayed where the quartet had been. I picked up two (Mica wanted one) and Blaine reached for a copy. “May I?” he asked. I nodded.

Being back on campus made me nostalgic. I wanted to go to a couple of spots I always visit when I’m there. Blaine was game even though it was chilly and intermittently misty. We didn’t go far. Down the hill toward the pond and along one of the paths I walked every day to get to the building where most of my classes were held. The other spot was inside that building. It was while we were standing inside the door of a side entrance and I was explaining why that’s all the further I needed to go that I had a feeling of this is right; trust this. I paused just a second to look at Blaine, as if it had been something he could have heard or felt too. Of course he was standing there as he had been. I finished what I was saying and we left.

Allison and Eli had gone by the time we arrived at Eve and Paul’s. Izzy, properly worn out by Eli, hadn’t even gotten off the couch when she heard the garage door. She was sprawled out with her head over the arm of the couch. Only the thumping of her tail showed she cared we were back.

Blaine went to the wine chiller and pulled out a bottle. “I had Allison bring it so it would be a surprise.” It was the wine I had liked so much the last time we went out with Kim and John.  "We’re going to celebrate you.” Probably anticipating an objection, he held up a finger. “You’re going to have to come to terms with it.” He winked. I love those winks.











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