Dread Pirate Manda

I’ll admit it right now. I’m not crazy about going to this reunion thingy on Saturday. Not in the least bit.

There is a handful of people I’d love to see. Haven’t seen or talked to Debbie in ages. I’d love to chat with Tarena. I think it’d be cool to clink glasses with April and several others. But…dunno. It’s okay when it’s just my class. Just our class. I’m comfortable with my classmates to an extent. Our 10-year reunion was amazing in that nobody was there to judge or create conflict (okay, that’s a lie; we had two guys who showed up with chips on their shoulders, but they left pretty early on once they realized that nobody cared). We all just wanted to have a great time and catch up on things. And really, there wasn’t much catching up that night…the fact that we showed up was enough excitement, and we built our momentum from there. It was energizing and comfortable all at once.

This thing on Saturday…I keep getting weird butterflies in my stomach. Not nervous ones: years of theater, presentations, public speaking engagements, and being a trainer cured me of stage fright long ago. Not excited ones either: there’s nothing about sitting at a bar with former classmates that gets me hopped up. It’s not fear. I’m not afraid of these people. They’re harmless.

By my best estimate, these would be Butterflies of Dread. I truly believe that I dread attending this shindig; I dread seeing people I wasn’t ever that friendly with. I dread seeing people I was friendly with but with whom I’ve not kept contact and know nothing about. I dread seeing people whose lives have diverged so completely from mine that I don’t see how normal conversation is even possible. I dread being in a situation where all there is to do is drink and make small-talk. I dread the awkwardness of not knowing at least half of the people in attendance or sitting through one of those really uncomfortable “I think I remember you…” exchanges that always leave me feeling like less of a human being.

I just don’t want to go. I think my gut instinct when the invitation first went out was the right decision to go with. Opt out, see if I can arrange a meetup with those friends who are in town this weekend, and cut my losses otherwise. That is more my style nowadays. I am at a point in my life where relaxing evenings with small groups of friends are far more appealing to me than large raucous crowds in big smelly country bars. (and really, when was the last time you ever heard of me being in a country bar anyway?!) I know this isn’t a kind thing for me to say, but you know me and kindness. Ships passing in the night and all. But…I just don’t care enough to give up a Saturday evening for this. I am more excited at the prospect of spending my weekend barbecuing in my backyard, drinking a bottle or two of really tasty red wine, and studying for finals. That right there should tell you how bad the Butterflies of Dread are: I would rather do schoolwork than socialize.

I would feel like a dick backing out now, though. Debbie would call me on my shit, Kelli would chuck things at my head, and there’s no doubt in my mind that there’d be that one person who’d show up at the reunion that I would hear about later and go “oh no! I would have loved to talk to him/her/it!” And I hate it when that happens. I hate knowing I’ve missed out on something golden.

The best I can do is show up as me. That’s going to have to be good enough. And if it’s not…well…at least it’ll make a good story for the 20yr reunion. Right?