Jake
My name is Jake Berenson.
To tell you the truth, I wasn't planning to go to my high school's ten year reunion. I was actually planning to spend the night in with my kids when my wife started showing interest in attending. And, let me say, it sparked a lot of arguments between the two of us. From that very first night that I walked into the house, after coming back from the mailbox up the street, Mel hasn't shut up about the stupid school reunion. She was so excited that night. She was going on and on about seeing the old gang after all these years. Meanwhile, I was starting to think that my wife didn't know what I really meant about getting some alone time.
The first night wasn't nearly as annoying as the next few nights before the actual reunion. My wife and I rarely fight, and when we do it's over the really trivial things, you know? We're not the sort of couple that stayed together all these years out of spite. But listening to her go on and on and on and on and on about that stupid reunion just made me snap. I mean, I'm not the sort of guy who just snaps like that, even if I'd been told the same thing for days on end--or, at least I wasn't that sort of guy in high school. But listening to Melissa talk about seeing her school friends just made me upset.
High school was great, don't get me wrong. After middle school, I sort of reluctantly gave up on my dream of being a basketball player. I had to admit to myself that I just wasn't that good...Or good at all. Tom was on the team all through high school. Tom was living the dream, let me tell you. Graduated with honours, all-star varsity team, and married his high school sweet heart--the head cheerleader, Taylor Berry.
Meanwhile, I was trying to keep my dream of becoming some super athlete alive. I tried football and baseball, only to have the coach give me some lame pep talk about helping the team out as a waterboy. Yea, right, like that would happen. After that I gave a swing at Lacrosse and Hockey, but that was just as futile. In the end, I got on the track team, which was ok. I was a pretty fast runner in my time, but I wasn't good enough to start trying out for the Olympics or anything. Besides, our team never went all state.
So, by eleventh grade I gave up on the sports dream. I tried some school clubs, and those worked out well. But I just got the feeling that I couldn't find my place in school, you know? I mean, I had my friends--a lot, to be honest with you-- and I was pretty much well-liked by people I wasn't friends with, but...You know how the Year book has those "Most likely to.." sort of awards for grad? There's "Most likely to succeed", "most likely to become President", "Most likely to marry rich", and stuff like that? Well...I was never a "most likely anything." Like I said, I couldn't find a good fit for me in school.
I never thought I'd still be living in my hometown in Santa Barbara after all these years; a mere ten blocks away from my parents. Looking back on Senior year, I remember an eager kid, ready to see the world; to travel. I wasn't planning on an education after graduation. I wanted to see Europe. I wanted to see something beyond my understanding, something different from myself, you know?
Instead, I stayed in Santa Barbara. I got a part time job at a gas station with a friend--you know, just to make some money. I sort of fooled around with Melissa Chapman that summer, and found that I was falling in love with her. We eventually married, both got jobs, and had two kids. And it was great...Just not the sort of life I'd imagined at sixteen, you know? I didn't think I'd be working for some company as a manager in charge of statistical analysis and research.
So, I guess, in the end, I just wasn't ready to face my class mates. I guess I didn't want people to look at me, ten years later, and think, "Hey, isn't that Jake Berenson? What happened to him?"
"It's just one night, Jake." Melissa said, pulling the bedsheets over and getting into bed. I curled up next to her and stared up at the ceiling. She went on, "We won't even stay that long."
I forced a laugh, knowing we'd stay the entire night if we went. I knew Mel. An hour of browsing at the mall turned into a day long shopping spree. And, guess what? I don't make that much money, either.
"I just don't understand why you even want to go." I said, lying on my side to look up at her. "Is it really going to make that much of a difference if we're there? I mean, you still talk to all your friends. Is it a big deal?"
She frowned. "I want to know why it's not a big deal for you, Jake."
I shrugged. "I just don't want to go."
I turned away from my wife and stared blankly at the olive coloured wall across from me. Why on earth did we paint our walls an olive green colour?
Suddenly, Melissa pulled up against me, kissing my neck softly. I knew my wife well, but she knew me better. She knew my weaknesses, at least. Even if she didn't always know what was on my mind, she knew how to get what she wanted. I guess that comes with being an only child, and the daughter of a pushover.
"Just one night, Jake." she whispered. "Like you said, it wouldn't make a difference? What could it hurt, huh?"
She was breathing heavily in my ear. Just great, I thought, now she wants alone time.
"You can talk to Marco all night," she said, rubbing my chest slowly. "I know you'd like that. You two have been so busy. You two need a night to catch up."
"I guess that's true..." I sighed...I was caving in, and she knew it.
She forced me onto my back and climbed up ontop of me. Looking up at her, right at that moment, I noticed that she looked exactly as she did in highschool: petite, barely 5'5, cream complexion, blonde hair the colour of lemonade, and a nice body. Sure, she'd aged--that was obvious. But her energy...She could have been eighteen again. And she was a gymnast.
"What's it gonna take, Jakie." She said. "What do you want me to do to convince you to go?"
I guess it couldn't hurt. Like I said, it was just a reunion. What could it hurt?
Post Merged: April 19, 2011, 08:41:41 PM
Rachel
"I don't care what you have to do, Lisa. You push the meeting back to Monday."
"Right, Mrs. Delmont." my assistant, Lisa said. "I'll get right on that, Mrs. Delmont."
And, just as she was walking back to her desk at reception, I shouted: "And it's Berenson again. How many times have I told you, Lisa?"
She nodded, shakily. "Yes, Mrs. Berenson. So sorry, Mrs. Berenson."
I shook my head and walked back into my office. "Ms Berenson." I mumbled. "Ms. Berenson."
