High School Confidential (Suzanne Forster)

I’ve never been to a high school reunion. That might not seem too remarkable, except that I went to school in the Jurassic period, so it’s been a lonnng time and a lot of missed reunions.

If I’d stayed in my hometown and lived anything resembling a normal life, it’s possible that I might have gone to at least some of the reunions. But things didn’t work out that way. I left high school and got married in my senior year, an adventure that warrants an entire series of blogs, or better yet a television mini-series called The Perils of Suzanne, but should probably be saved for my memoirs.

To summarize, the marriage to my high school sweetheart didn’t work out, and it quickly became apparent that one of us had to go. Our bucolic hometown wasn’t big enough for the both of us, as they say. With equal parts apprehension and anticipation, I moved to California with my son, a toddler at the time, got a job and enrolled in night school, where I finished the requirements for my high school diploma. From there I went on to college, also at night. It was tough sledding with a little one, but Kenny and I got through it, and we both turned out all right. He’s now a successful contractor, very happily married, with three children of his own. Me, I’m a hard-working writer—and a work in progress.

But, back to all those missed reunions. I’d dropped off my classmates’ radar, first by leaving school and moving away, and then by remarrying. While I was in California, working, raising my son and going to night school, I also fell in love with my boss. How did I have time? Heaven knows, but he was a single parent too, so we had much in common, and not only was he great with our mixed bag of kids, he was very encouraging and respectful of my goals and dreams.

In those days, I wanted to be a psychologist, a goal that required graduate studies and licensing. I plunged into it, headlong, but in the middle of my first year of an accelerated doctoral program, I had a car accident that changed the course of my life. It was a serious accident, and I wrote an entire book during the long recovery period. That book eventually became my first published novel, Undercover Angel.

Years went by, the kids grew up at what now seems like an alarming rate, my husband made his mark at aerospace engineering, and many more books were written and published by Suzanne Forster, my married name, all without a thought of high school reunions. It wasn’t until last year, February of 2006, when I was going through my mother’s things after she passed away that I found my old high school yearbooks. As I looked through the yellowing pages, I barely recognized anyone, including me. Honestly, it felt as if I was looking at someone else’s distant past. Who was that girl? How did she feel? What did she want? Was she as self-conscious as she looked?

The answer to the last question is yes. We didn’t use the word nerdy in those days, but it’s certainly apt, in my case. I was shy, quiet and bookish. If I had opinions, I kept them to myself, and I was constantly mortified by one thing or another, but mostly by my total lack of allure to the opposite sex. Being called bird bones, four eyes and Olive Oyl did nothing for my self-confidence. Our high school lockers were pretty good size, and I can remember wondering if I’d fit inside. In fact, I was obsessed with the idea, lol.

I did have a few close girlfriends, but they weren’t so close that I ever shared my darkest fears or brightest dreams with them. I was probably afraid of being laughed at. Or maybe kids didn’t share fears and dreams in the Jurassic period. My parents certainly didn’t encourage a lot of opening up and sharing, so I had no role models. Still, somehow I caught on. Now look at me. I spill my guts all over the place—in my books, my Yahoo group, my various online lists, as well as my brainstorming group, which also serves as group therapy, and right here in this blog. People probably wish I’d stop already.

I doubt if many of can get through our high school annuals without some mixed feelings. The teenage years are turbulent even for the most popular and outgoing students, I imagine. Mine were nothing I’d ever want to revisit, but I was in a particularly vulnerable place when I found the yearbooks. I’d been commuting from California for several years to care for my mother, and as much as I’d loved being able to help her, it was a difficult, lonely time. I’d needed a break occasionally, lunch or an evening out with friends, but as I said, I’d lost track of everyone. And now, my mom was gone, too. But the yearbooks gave me an idea.

A writer friend suggested I try classmates.com, and it worked like a charm. I found two girlfriends on my first visit to the website, and they were still living right there in Olympia, where we all went to school. Plus, they were on the reunion committee. Can you see where this is going? I was thrilled to have found them and fired off enthusiastic emails. The responses I got back were a bit restrained. I’m not sure they believed it was me, especially since even the spelling of my first name was different. I’d changed it from Suzan, which no one knew how to pronounce, to Suzanne, for the books. It took me a couple emails to explain all that, but I wasn’t daunted. I had enough excitement for all three of us.

We exchanged some pertinent information about our lives, and I was hoping we might all be able to get together while I was in Olympia, but for a variety of reasons, it never came to pass. I left to return home to California, somewhat dejected about what seemed to be a cool reception, and trying to figure out why I hadn’t been embraced with open arms.

An author friend of mine patiently explained that not all people live on the Internet the way we writers do, and they don’t all respond to their email immediately or with multiple exclamation points. It’s a different life we writers live, she reminded me. We’re alone a lot. Our lifestyles aren’t typical, especially when we’re on deadline, and we rely heavily on email communication. Normal people don’t, apparently.

Turned out she was right. My classmates began to respond to what must have seemed like a barrage of rapid-fire emails. At a slow but steady pace they wrote back, and I discovered that one of them was caring for a parent who was ill and the other had a demanding business to run. They brought me up to date on some of our other classmates, a few of whom I remembered well, but many who’d disappeared without a trace from my gray matter. In some cases, not even their yearbook pictures could jumpstart my memory. Eventually I realized why. I’d never met them! It was a class of five hundred, after all.

My friends also told me about the upcoming class reunion and invited me to visit the website and sign the guest book. I immediately heard from a friend I’d known since grade school. She wrote rapid-fire emails with multiple exclamation points!! That was fun. And reassuring. But she doesn’t live in Olympia and there’s little chance she’ll make it to the reunion. I guess the big question is, will I?

I’m ready for it. I think. It sounds like fun more than anything else, but I guess there’s this question of how I’ll be perceived. And how I’ll react. Perception is powerful, especially when it comes from the most vulnerable of your formative years. They’ll remember me exactly as I was, shy and skittish, a mouse, when in many ways today, I feel more like a lioness. Will I regress? When I’m surrounded by people expecting me to be quiet and shy—who might even want me to be that way so their expectations won’t be challenged—will I become that?

Probably not. It’s been a lot of years, and I’ve been tested in many ways. I’ve grown into the woman I am now, and I’ve earned the sense of confidence and accomplishment I feel. But the teenager is still very much alive inside me, which is rather scary and wonderful. She was a great kid. She was just too spooked to let anybody know.

This should be interesting. Have any of you been to your reunions? Or even thought about it? I could use some feedback here. Should a high school reunion virgin take the plunge after all these years?

Suz