Reunion

Reunion
--noun
1. the act of uniting again
2. the state of being united again
3. a gathering of relatives, friends, or associates at regular intervals or after a separation: a college reunion

Distance snakes its way between lives like water cutting through sandstone. Puddles become streams, streams become rivers, and before long old friends find themselves calling to each other across canyons. Reunions collapse dividing space and allow people to hike down and meet at the bottom of the canyon, climb aboard rafts loaded with booze and float along for a time.

But "re-union" means more than getting groups of people who used to know each other in the same place. "Union" implies not only the sharing of physical space, but emotional connection. Successful re-unions thus hinge on the notion that participants once possessed emotional ties--as friends, comrades, enemies--and that these ties can be reconstituted in a single weekend.


Wesleyan Reunion and Commencement Weekend, May 19th - 22nd 2011

Smoking part of a joint an hour after arriving at reunion was ill-advised. I knew better, but was feeling rather anxious after checking into my dorm room as the 26-year-old version of my 18-year-old self who just arrived on campus for the first time. I somehow didn't anticipate the awkward hello's and half-greetings of 06-ers who began materializing in front of me like wraiths from the great beyond. Did I have an English class with that kid? There's Lindsay from my Freshman orientation group. Look, it's Sun Dress Magee! Time for some friendly conversation: Yup, uh huh. Tell me more about that. How do you like living in Philly, San Francisco, Brooklyn, England, Portland, Denver? How's life as a lawyer, doctor, teacher, student, pretentious shithead? You guys broke up? You're engaged? You're having a baby? You started dating women again? Your dog died?

I hadn't given most of these phantoms a second thought since 2006 and yet here they were-- as present as my headache from the night before and much more real than my delusions of reunion utopia. I expected to spend the weekend catching up with my closest friends, but quickly remembered an important lesson that Reality likes to stuff down my throat: expectation is a fickle friend. (I have since forgotten this lesson and expect Reality to hammer it down my throat again any minute).

The rest of Friday night featured dinner in the new dining hall--which I wandered out of after five aimless minutes surveying the multifarious food options ("have you tried the BBQ seitan!?") followed by some vague, blurry drinking and half-hearted drinking games. Flip cup briefly gained steam only to end with a whimper instead of the old college bang. About an hour into party-hopping my body's fuel light came on and knew I was running on fumes. Just in the nick of time James and I discovered a gourmet grilled-cheese truck parked near Eclectic--perhaps the most tangible gain in campus infrastructure since 2006--and we munched our sandwiches on the steps like two old geezers, watching drunk college kids and adults pretending to be college kids roll by as we pondered the ether.

I did manage a brief appearance at the Eclectic party. For those of you non-Cardinals, Eclectic is the hipster anti-frat frat, where copious amounts of drugs get consumed by skinny-jeaned wannabe rockers (or maybe real rockers? I'm not sure how to distinguish between the two). We entered via the back deck, where I encountered a few folks who I genuinely wanted to see--gems from my interpretive dancing days, a Peace Corps Zambia volunteer who was thinking about moving to Cape Town, and my dear friend Robert taking large swigs from a whiskey bottle on the dance floor. As the receding tide washed partygoers back by the Favre dorms en route to a famous backyard party on Fountain, I paddled into an eddy and slipped into my room to get some sleep, only to find my roomate, Max, already in bed with the lights out. Five years down the line I had apparently adopted the very same party habits we used to rag on Max for back in the day. I guess some things have changed since college, and that's fine with me.

On day two of reunion I really hit my stride. Max and I rolled out of bed early feeling refreshed, knowing our compatriots would likely sleep away the morning and early afternoon. We decided to hoof it down to O'Rourke's, the most legit old diner around. O'Rourke's has been run by multiple generations of hard-nosed Irishmen, and Brian O'Rourke, the current proprietor, is no exception. Brian has won awards for his gourmet assortment of delicious soda breads and inventive breakfast cuisine. He has not won awards for his personality, though, which is also one of a kind. Normally as dreary New Englander as it gets, Brian can be quite friendly, even weirdly so (picture unbreakable, tractor-beam eye contact), if you happen to be a current or former Wesleyan soccer star. I sadly cannot lay claim to that title, but my other roommate, Kevin, can--yes, the very same Kevin who was currently swallowing Oxycodone and nursing his separated shoulder in Park Slope. Since Max and I aren't above name-dropping, we brought Kevin up in the hopes of getting some free soda bread. Instead, we were rewarded only by a thinly veiled diatribe on the demerits of the current Men's Soccer coach in comparison with his predecessor.

Our food was amazing--perfect even--in spite of the Abe factor. Abe is the name of one of our former classmates (not quite a friend, but a friendly guy) who appeared out of nowhere as soon as Max and I got in line. "I walked down behind you guys and figured I'd find someone down here to eat with," he told us. And before we could say Eggs Benedict our cozy best-bud duo became a somewhat awkward threesome. Even after Max's not-so-subtle hint that we wanted one-on-one time to talk about his upcoming wedding, Abe seemed perfectly thrilled to dine with us. Luckily this didn't affect the taste of the Soda Bread or the corned beef hash. And, as it turns out, Abe's actually a solid guy.

A few hours later, I found myself barefoot on a crowded Foss hill with a beer in hand and old friends everywhere. This was what I had been missing--THIS--what was it was all about: sunshine, relaxation, casual conversation with those I most wanted to see. I finally had a chance to catch up with Amy, Zoe and Catlin--my close friends and housemates from Junior year who I've drifted out of touch with to varying degres since Wes. They were still awesome, as it turned out. The arrival of Kevin and his Fiancee Tina, and then, shortly after, Pat Butsch, further bolstered my spirits. Pat and I attended middle school, high school and college together. He was the only kid in my seventh grade gym class with hairy legs (the only boy, at least). He threw up all over me during one of our very first drinking parties in high school. We played on the same line in youth hockey and co-captained our high school team together. I dated one of his triplet sisters in Jr. High and the other one in High School. At this point Pat's more family than friend, which is why I forgive him every time he dumps a beer on my head. More on that later.

Please forgive me for stepping out of my narrative for a moment. Unfortunately, I have fallen multiple weeks behind on my trip blog, and this entry doesn't seem to be wrapping up anytime soon. Since I've already attended both weddings and the funeral, and returned to Cape Town, I'm going to conclude this entry with a short list of the salient moments from reunion that I have not yet mentioned:

The class of 2006 dinner:

1. Pat's interaction with Deborah, the Aramark bartender who remembered him from five years ago. This involved lots of tipping, reminiscing and picture-taking.

2. Pat's improvised leading of the class of 2006 in the Wesleyan fight song. Not sure what Calving Cato, the head of alumni relations, thought when Pat jumped up on stage and stole the microphone, but everyone else seemed thrilled.

3. Waiting in the food line with Anna. This was noteworthy because Anna is awesome.

The Tent Party:

1. Shotgunning beers with Brooks in the dark to avoid the cash bar. They didn't go down like they used to.

2. The perfectly-timed Pat Butsch beer pour. This is how it went down: A crazy nympho sophomore with curly hair danced up on me and wouldn't dance off. I kept turning away form her and she kept turning right along with me. "This is my five-year reunion," I said in an I-could-be-your-father type tone, hoping to deter her. "That figures," she said, all the more encouraged. "I have a girlfriend," I told her, turning away once more. "A serious girlfriend!" I added.
"Let's go somewhere," she yelled up to me. I looked to Charlotte for some help and she gave me a "that girl is crazy but you're on your own" look. Just when I was about to turn around and run, I felt it: a cleansing waterfall of Busch Light cascading down my head. I didn't need to turn around; I knew who had poured it. In a world without certainty, I have come to count on the Pat Butsch Beer Pour more than the changing of the seasons and the movement of my bowels. What set this pour apart from all the others, however, was the timing: just when it was seeming like this strange girl might take her clothes off and chase me around the dance floor she got an unexpected beer bath and thought better of it. I guess class of 2013 can't hang with class of 2006, and thank goodness for that.

The next morning:

I was so ready to leave that I didn't bother to listen to Paul Farmer. Sorry, Paul.