Page 1 of Mixed Connection
1
You know, I could turn around and no one would be the wiser.
Lo
Get your fine ass in the car and call me when you get there.
The reunion invitation might as well be putty in my hands with how many times I’ve folded and unfolded it. When I was a teen, this place made my skin crawl. I didn’t have a great high school experience, my last year was a tough one, being constantly ridiculed by other students. Granted we were all kids, trying to figure out who we were becoming, but the interactions still left lasting impressions on me. Let’s just say being fat, in a hormonally raging teen fest, wasn’t easy for me.
A balmy breeze ruffles my curls, conjuring memories of the last few weeks of junior year, right before summertime funwould take over and it would be pool days from then on out with Paloma and Janelle. I miss those days.
“Why the fuck did I RSVP to this again?” I mumble, in an attempt to keep my voice low, as more people walk up the weathered concrete steps. I fumble with the thick cardstock, remembering the promises I made to myself after graduating. Determined I was done with allowing the bullies to win, done with not loving myself, and vowed to work on choosing me first in all areas of my life.
Forcing myself to relax my shoulders, I finally notice the old school sign and shake my head. Cypress Lake High School still has its raggedy sign in the entryway of campus, the deep-red letters are washed out and almost pink from years of the natural elements taking their toll. One would think it would have been replaced after all these years but apparently the administration hasn’t, and I’m not going to hold my breath that they ever will.
“de Que hablas Willis,why did you RSVP to this.”My best friend’s face scrunches up at me, before she continues with the pep talk I don’t want, but need. “Cass, you can do this babe. Just walk in. Besides, we made a pact to sayyesto more things in life, even the stuff that makes us uncomfortable,” Paloma reminds me, her face filling the screen of our video call as if I need her throwing my own obligations back in my face.
The pact was something Donna, my therapist, suggested, and Paloma was happy to support me as an accountability partner. When we agreed to this effort almost a year ago, I promised to say yes to more things that would bring me joy. My early twenties were filled with moments of second guessing the importance of making myself a priority given my parents couldn’t fathom doing so.I knew I didn’t want to remain stagnant by being stuck in a cycle of second-best or the abandonment issues I was beginning to form prior to starting therapy.
After many sessions along with building trust with my therapist, it was suggested thatjust maybe, I needed to start by being the first choice for myself and move away from placing my worth in others, especially my parents. Removing the insecurity that I wouldn’t be anybody’s priority because I already was, to me.
Taking a deep inhale I tease, “You know, you were supposed to be here with me but you bailed.” I watch her eyes roll and can read her expression that says,I should cuss you out right now.
Silent conversations and Spanglish sass are our love language.
“Carajo!” She laughs. “I would be there if I could, but I’m sick as a dog right now.” Her shoulder-length, magenta hair is currently pulled up into a messy bun, lumpy from curls not brushed down, while a few wispy stragglers hang freely in the back, far too short to fit so high on her head. It’s exactly how I know she’s sicker than she lets on, it’s her, I-feel-like-shit hairdo. Shifting my shoulders slightly, I consider turning around and going home, not wanting to do this alone.
This is a place of such disdain for me. I kept in touch with maybe two other people, and we’re not even that close. The music from inside grows louder as a few people enter. I know I can’t stand out here much longer before I begin to look like a creep.Fuck, I look like a creep.
“You know I love you, and you can do this. These people, this place, they don’t have control over you anymore.” She slips out the last words right before a coughing fit hits. She pulls a tissue into view and I swear I can smell the menthol and eucalyptus from the vapor rub through the screen. Any time Lo is feeling under the weather, she slathers herself in it. Balling the tissue up, she tosses it out of view. Her nose is rubbed raw and looks as though it can illuminate a Christmas Eve night.
I can hear how tired she is and decide to take her advice. “I hate that you’re right. I love you. Now go take some medicineand ponte vicks,” I say the same words she tells me the moment congestion is a contender. “I’ll text you when I make it home later. Promise.”
We say our final goodbyes and I disconnect the call. She’s right. Why allow the anxiety of yesterday to bother what could be a great night in the here and now? Besides, I don’t have to be here long. I’ll pop in and say hi to those I remember and get the hell home.
I wiggle my toes, imagining my cozy bunny slippers.
In and out.
Being at Cypress Lake High isn’t all bad, I guess—I did meet my best friends here after all. And I’m proud of where I am in my life. There is nothing and no one stopping me from walking through those doors but myself, and I’ll be damned if I get in my own way.
I grab the cold, brass handle and pull open the door; my eyes go wide and a sense of awe presses in on me as I take in the decor.
Though the outside of the building looks the same as it did ten years ago, the reunion committee did an amazing job transforming the dilapidating interior into something worth having some school spirit over.
The inside of the main hall is completely revamped, the theme for this year being Botanical Oasis. The surroundings are decked out in shades of deep green with a combination of faux shrubs obstructing what I can only imagine are unsightly walls and baseboards still trapped in the eighties. Large, leafy, potted plants are arranged in clusters along with flowerpots throughout the space, and I think I may even hear the sound of rain playing softly.
Wanting to see a bit more, I stand on my tiptoes and peer over the shrubs. There are couches and chairs in small groupings so everyone can lounge about when they aren’t dancing or eating.
I dip into the bathroom to make sure I look my very best and to quell the bits of anxiety that are still seeping into my psyche. I’m met with a full-length mirror as soon as I walk in, a wall sconce adorns the top casting my reflection to look more like a framed piece of art. This perks my mood up a bit, ridding me of any remaining jitters. Swallowing a laugh, I tuck a loose strand of hair back into place. My deep-chestnut curls are perfect tonight. I gave myself a heavy side part and allowed them to fall where they may, cascading over my shoulders and fluffed to perfection.
My strapless bustier top glitters under the fluorescent bulbs. It has a dainty floral pattern embroidered into it and I knew it would be the perfect piece to bring my outfit together. I opted for exaggerated wide-legged, olive pants that flutter as I move to complement the form-fitting bodice—one that gives me enough cleavage to feel sexy but allows me not to worry about flashing anyone the goods. Giving it one last adjustment, and righting the skinny black belt that beautifully matches my thin choker, I feel a bit more settled in myself again. Taking in a deep breath, I smirk at the reflection because I feel fucking amazing, I’m not going to let this night get the best of me.
I remind myself of the pact Lo and I made, emphasizing that personal growth and inner joy can come from moments of discomfort. Leaning into the uneasiness of experiences we wouldn’t normally indulge in, might help release ourselves from the possibility of regret. We can live and enjoy, and learn from our mistakes and successes, but we won’t be stuck wondering what could have been.
Pulling open the bathroom door, I take my first step out and then another, and another, my heels giving me a bit more sway in my hips and I let that drive me forward. I told myself I was going to have a good time, that I would dance, and try to experience more joy. I’m giving myself permission to do thethings I might regret not doing later—this is anotheryesI need to give myself.
By the time I step back into the hallway, the lighting has dimmed slightly to allow the colored LED lights to illuminate a more relaxed mood before the DJ takes over for the night. The smile dancing on my lips feels good but is short-lived when I hear my name.
