Last Friday, I wandered into the fifty year class reunion for Bishop Ryan, where I went to high school. Normally I would not partake in such an event, as I wouldn't be likely to shed a tear if the school happened to burn down.
However, I had one friend (Amy Grosche) who I really wanted to see who I thought would be there, since she'd been conned into organising it. I'd told her long ago that I had no idea where I'd be come reunion time. I think I was in New Zealand at the time we spoke, so it was not a lie.
Friday night I was out with my mom and friends listening to live bluegrass in downtown Minot. After one glass of red wine, (yes, that is enough to get me to do crazy things) I decided that I'd just wander over to the reunion and see if I could find Amy.
I drove my mom's black Buick to the bar, pulled into the showtime (read: outside the front door) parking spot and stumbled into the bar. Looking around the room, I saw no one I really recognised. I saw no one who I wanted to recognise. I actually just wanted to return to the bluegrass bar. But I told myself I would make an effort to find Amy, so I waded through the crowd of ex-jocks, seeking her out.
After one pass through, I didn't find her and thought I would leave. I walked out the back door and then decided I should really give it one more shot, and besides, my car was out the other door. So I retraced my steps and looked around.
I was about to leave when I decided I should really say hi to at least one person (just to prove I was there) so I did and suddenly appeared Amy. She'd thought that it couldn't be me, since I was still supposed to be in New Zealand. We sat down and chatted. I met her husband. We made plans to meet again before I leave.
So I accomplished my goal for the night. And now I never have to go to another high school reunion event. Checked that off my life's list.