We each talked about my shoes for a bit longer until Marcie instructed me that it was time to go on the stage and officially kick off this reunion.
I never really got stage fright from speaking in person or being on air, but the thought of standing in front of my peers that I went to school with so long ago kind of terrified me. My palms began to sweat and I was extremely glad that I had decided to wear extra strength deodorant as my armpits were overly damp as well.
Stepping up onto the platform and walking quickly, albeit a bit wobbly, to the microphone stand, I grabbed the mic and brought it to my lips. Everyone who wasn’t paying attention to me suddenly was once I cleared my throat, interrupting everyone in their conversations.
“Good evening! And welcome to Class of 1999’s fifteen year reunion. I’m Eden Richardt, fellow graduate, and since I’m a radio personality in Nashville, Marcie has kindly asked me to be sort of like the MC for the evening.” I kept looking around throughout the crowd but my eyes always ended back on Baylor and Dean who were standing away from the majority of people, each holding a beer. “Now, since many of you may have seen the spat that occurred a few moments ago, I thank you.” I blew out a quick breath, “I cannot lie, it felt great to finally put that bitch in her place,” a round of hoots and hollers commenced as well as a brief applause. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me.” I turned to look at a very pissed off and unamused Kristina, “Unlike you I will be the bigger person here and apologize for my actions. We aren’t kids anymore and I’m sure you’ve changed. But then again, I really don’t think you have.” Bringing my hand to my forehead, “Wow, I’m on a roll. I apologize again, normally I’m just not so forward. Anyway, Marcie has brought in a really great cover band all the way from Brown County, Georgia. Her cousin Brock is one of the guitarists and he jumped on the chance to bring us some amazing music. So please, let’s give them a warm Cottage Grove welcome, The Nation’s Capital, everyone.” I lightly clapped along with everyone else while holding the microphone with one hand. Toby jumped up on stage, took the mic from me, and then grasped my hand so he could help me down off the stage.
I quickly walked towards Baylor, who met me halfway, and flashed him a small smile and apologized for my actions.
“Are you kidding me? You just did what a lot of people wouldn’t have had the courage to do. Now I’m not saying that it was right to call her out in front of most of our graduating class, but it was quite comical nonetheless.”
We each took our seats about the time Toby should’ve begun speaking and introducing the band. All was so quiet that you couldn’t even hear a pin drop and it seemed he was building up his speech because he just stood there with the microphone lifted to his mouth. Finally he started, “Good evening! I want to thank the lovely Miss Eden for introducing our band; as she said, we are The Nation’s Capital. We’re all from a fairly small town called Brown County, Georgia and we are thrilled to be here. I also wanted to commend Eden for actually standing up to her high school bully. I’m gay so I know all about what it’s like just going through the motions from day to day and not really living. Always wondering who was going to come shove me into my locker or attempt to push me down the stairs, it all happened. But now I’ve learned from it and have moved on, but my biggest bullies are my parents. If only I could get the chance to tell them what for.” He shrugged his shoulder, “Ah, enough about me, let’s introduce the band!! I’m, as you know, Toby Morgan and we’ve got Mike Jameson on the drums,” he paused for a second so Mike could do a little drum solo, “And Charlie Hennings on bass guitar,” Charlie followed up doing his own riff, “and last but certainly not least, the reason why we are actually here in Oregon this evening, Brock Monroe!”
Toby continued to walk aimlessly around on stage, “Now I could stand up here and talk until I’m blue in the face!” He leaned back screaming the last part, “or I could shut the hell up and get onto playing some tunes!” Throwing an arm in the air, “Are y’all ready to get this party started?!” The room went from one extreme to the other, deafening silence to unrelenting screams. It was almost as if we were in a bar attending one of their shows.
Mike, the drummer, began banging his drumsticks between the cymbals and the snare while Toby spoke again; I could tell that he was supremely longwinded. “Now, I know since y’all graduated in 1999, and by the way I was ten then,” he expressively winked, “your theme song was undoubtedly “1999” by Prince.” Cue my inward groan along with several audible ones. He pointed a finger out towards the tables, “I heard some of you groan, but you need to hear me out. What I was going to say was that I absolutely loathe that song. So instead, we are going to play “When Doves Cry” by Prince, which to me is a much better choice.” He turned to look at Charlie, who was wielding his bass guitar, “Let’s get started!”
Charlie began sliding his hands on his bass which sounded completely amazing, then Mike came in on the drums as they continued. When Toby started singing, in a lower pitch, I was astounded by the sound of his voice.
“For a cover band, they seem really awesome,” Dean chimed in as he lifted the brown bottle of beer to his lips and took a swig.
I cradled my chin in the palm of my hand while my elbow was resting on the table, “You know, I was just thinking the same thing. I wonder why they choose to perform covers instead of something original.” Taking a glance around, many people were subtly dancing in their seats, bopping their heads and swaying to the beat. After a minute or so some people actually got up and stood in front of the stage and began dancing around.
Baylor looked to me with his palm facing up, ready for me to take it, but his invitation was cut short by the appearance of a shadow behind us. Dean looked up past me and judging by the look of annoyance on his face I knew it wasn’t going to be good. I turned around along with Baylor to a very burly man who had a distinct receding hairline and a handlebar mustache. The way his apologetic gaze was set on me it was almost as if he expected me to know who he was.
I looked to the two men that were both immediately to my right and neither of them seemed to know who he was either. Too bad we didn’t wear ‘Hi my name is’ stickers that indicated who we were; I wondered why Marcie had decided to forgo that option, because it would’ve made for a much less awkward situation right then.
“Hi, how are you?” I didn’t want to promptly start off by asking who the hell he was and what he wanted, even though that was surely what I was thinking at the moment.
“I’m fine,” he answered quietly, acting a mixture of shy and a bit unsure of himself. I had never seen a grown man so fidgety in all my life.
It was Baylor who finally recognized the man standing before us, “Jeff Kissinger?”
“Yeah, I was hoping to talk to Eden for a moment.” Color me freaking stupid! I wouldn’t have ever known who he was if I ran into him out in the street. More than likely he would’ve come face to face with my pepper spray or even my favorite defense mechanism, a knee to the groin. In fact, now that I knew who he was, he was still pretty likely to receive my knee. Stupid ass.
“Uh,” I said trying to delay the inevitable. “Actually you can just say whatever you need to in front of Baylor and Dean as well.”
He seemed a bit perturbed by my answer but proceeded anyway. “Well,” he began wringing his hands together and in many ways reminded me of a small child when you were trying to pry information out of them when they wouldn’t be so forthcoming. “My wife,” he looked over his shoulder to a petite round woman who was sitting at another table across the gym staring at Jeff, “made me enroll in Alcoholics Anonymous in order to try to save our marriage. Well, step number eight is to make a list of those we have wronged, and number nine is actually confronting those people to try and make amends. I just wanted to apologize for what happened during our one and only date and then lying about it to everyone else. You were a sweet girl, Eden, and I was the horny teenager and I ultimately tried to take advantage of you. So for everything, I truly am sorry.” I could see the deep sincerity in his eyes and the beads of sweat forming along his brow. What type of person would I be if I didn’t forgive him?