Wednesday, December 7, 2011

There Must Be a Camera Around Here Somewhere

Do you ever feel like you're inside a movie? I had one of those moments the other night at the mall.

I was dashing through Macy's when I passed a tall good-looking gentleman about my age. I wasn't doing that kind of shopping, but I noticed he seemed to really make and hold eye contact with me as I whisked by. And he looked vaguely familiar.

After I passed him, I turned and looked back. He had turned and was still staring at me. He had on a jacket and he had his hands in his pockets. More than his face, there was something about his posture . . . but I shook it off and kept going around the signage and onto the escalator.

I could tell that there was going to be a gap about half way up the escalator, and I couldn't help but look over. He was still staring at me, still with that stance. Suddenly I recognized him and called out his name, with about 6 question marks after it. And he called out mine in the same questioning tone.

And then I had to ride the elevator the rest of the way up, go around, and ride back down. Where he was waiting at the bottom with a big hug.

Surely there was a camera nearby. It was just like a movie scene.

Amazing. He and I were great pals in high school and hadn't seen each other since the 20-year reunion, which was about 15 years ago. I met his wife then, and she was with him in the store, too, so we got reacquainted.

Back in 1977, he and I strenuously competed for the role of Editor-in-Chief of the annual staff. He was chosen and I was his right hand all senior year while we sweat blood to produce a great yearbook. I don't think I've ever admitted this, but his idea for the theme was way better than mine, and I'm glad he won. He was a much better EIC than I would have been.

We never dated, but we did go to the homecoming dance together that year. To this day, it's the most fun I've ever had at a dance.

I had a boyfriend who had already graduated, and he didn't want to go to homecoming and didn't mind that I went with someone else. (Note to self: this sort of behavior is a real red flag. No wonder things didn't work out.)

My pal picked me up in his battered, decidedly uncool midnight blue station wagon. He had been held back a grade in elementary school, so he was of legal age. We stopped by a liquor store for some vodka and a quart of orange juice, mixed it up in the car, and shared it straight from the carton in the school parking lot before going in to the dance.

Seriously, it is one of my fondest high school memories. No tension, no pressure, nothing but just plain fun.

I wonder if he remembers that the same way I do. We didn't talk about it in the store -- apparently it wasn't in the script.

3 comments:

Talk to me! I love external validation.