Reunion Repercussions
August
I think I must really be insane. Really, honestly, downright crazy, to think that after two years, James could possibly remember me. But the fact of the matter is that even though I know that a question asked two summers ago (Do you have a boyfriend?) means nothing now, I feel like I need to talk to James. I don't know why. I just do.
That would be why I'm currently sitting in the backseat of the blue Toyota heading towards Mulberry Park. And although I told my parents that dying of heatstroke is better than witnessing Matt and my cousin destroy the house (they opted to stay home), I know I'm really going to see James. Not that I even know if he'll be there, or what I'll say to him if he is.
I turn up the volume of my headphones, hoping that my Jekyll and Hyde soundtrack will drown out my own thoughts. I close my eyes as Façade starts. My thoughts drift towards marching band. Our show this year is Jekyll and Hyde, and yours truly has a mallet solo. Band camp starts tomorrow, and I'm trying to immerse myself in the music as much as possible.
The park is crowded when we get there. People are mingling with friends, children are running around everywhere. It doesn't matter they've never met before; they have fun anyway, and I envy them for that.
James isn't here yet, but even if he was, I'd still e sitting here at this picnic table, playing my handheld Tetris, because I've got no idea what to say if he shows up.
Twelve Tetris games and two new high scores later, a car pulls into the parking lot behind me. Something inside me just knows that James is here. I don't turn around, at least not right away.
I glance out of the corner of my eye and see James' parents greet my own; James follows not far behind. He's taller, way taller than me, (but then again I'm only five two. Most people are taller than me.) He must be at least six three though. He glances around, and I hope he's maybe looking for me.
I walk over to my parents on the pretense of needing to tell my mother that I'm going to take a walk.
Our parents are talking, while James and I sort of hover off to the sides, eyeing each other. It's then that I notice he's patting his sides, and bobbing his head. He does this continuously, and a pattern develops. I can't stand it anymore, so I walk right up to him. I have to ask.
"Are you a drummer?"
He looks surprised, but I'm not sure if it's because we recognize each other, or because I can tell he's a drummer.
"Yeah," he replies.
"Me, too. Well, mallets mostly, but bass occasionally."
"Snare. You're in marching band."
"Yeah, band camps starts tomorrow." I'm awestruck, but honestly, only a conversation focused on band could possibly make us let our guards down so fast.
"What grade are you in?" James asks.
"Sophomore in the fall. You?"
"I'll be a junior."
We talk for a few minutes more, until my father says we're leaving. It's not until we're halfway home that I think I probably should have asked him for his screen name. It's too late now.