An Excerpt from 'Reunion: A Story' (Book One of the Reunion Duology)
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| (Photo by the author) |
Just in case you are new to this space, though, here's the back cover summary of Reunion, plus an excerpt from my favorite scene in the novella:
It is June 1983. Jim Garraty is a senior at South Miami Senior High. He's a staff writer for the school paper, a college-bound scholar who plans to become a historian and author of books on military history. He's well-liked by his peers and teachers, and his future looks bright.
But as commencement draws near for the Class of 1983, Jim must deal with unfinished business. The girl he loves from afar is also graduating, and rumor has it that she is going away for the summer before starting college in the fall.
Worse still, Marty doesn't know how deeply Jim's feelings for her are - unless he tells her. But when an opportunity arises on the last day of classes at South Miami High, Jim hesitates...and the window of opportunity closes.
Now, 15 years later, James Garraty is an up-and-coming history professor whose literary career is on the rise. Respected by his fellow faculty professors and recipient of popular and critical acclaim, Jim seems to have it all. Except for one thing. True love.
Excerpt:
Like most of the school now, the chorus room had the ambiance of a deserted house. The metal music stands, songbooks and piano scores were locked away in the storage closet in the back of the soundproof room. In a corner of the room, the black Kawai piano with the sticky C-note was shrouded with a protective canvas cover; it looked like a corpse covered with a sheet. I looked at the empty space where it had been only a few hours before. Snippets of memories flashed before me like mental newsreels: Mrs. Quincy sitting on her piano bench, peering at the sheet music through bifocal lenses and playing the keyboard with gusto…Mrs. Quincy correcting our off-key slips or breaks in pitch…our attempts to keep a straight face while learning the lyrics to a particularly hilarious song.
I smiled wistfully at these
visions of the not-so-long-ago past, wanting to keep the moment etched deeply
in my mind and not wanting it to dissolve – like the dream – forever. I placed
my backpack on the tiled floor.
“Hello, Jimmy,” said an all-too
familiar voice from somewhere behind me. It was Marty. No one else at South
Miami had that delightful, almost exotic English accent.
I turned around slowly until I faced her. “Hi,
Marty,” I said.
She got up from one of the few chairs that had
not been placed in storage and gave me a shy half-smile. “So, come to say
goodbye, then?” Marty asked.
I gazed at her, committing every detail of her
appearance to memory. She wore faded Levi’s blue jeans, a white and orange
SOUTH MIAMI CHORUS T-shirt, white socks and an old pair of Keds sneakers. Her
chestnut hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore very little makeup; a touch of
mascara here, a hint of blush there, a bit of lip-gloss to make things a bit
interesting. She was shockingly, heartrendingly beautiful.
My heart skipped a beat. “I couldn’t go without
seeing you, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “Oh, come on; I bet you say that to
all the girls.”
“It’s true,”
I said. “And no, I don’t say that to all the girls.”
She smiled again. “I see,” she said. “How did
you do on your final?”
“Okay, I guess. How about you?”
She shrugged. “All right, I suppose. Biology is not my cup of tea. I’ll be happy if I pass
with a 75.”
I essayed a small smile. “I’m sure you did
better than that,” I said.
Another shrug. “We’ll see.” She sighed. “What?”
I asked.
“It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?” she asked
wistfully.
“What?”
“That this,” she said with a sweeping gesture,
“part of our lives is over, Jimmy. Three years sure went fast, didn’t they?”
“Yes – yes, they did,” I said, feeling suddenly
as if the stars and the planets had been placed on my shoulders. I felt my
smile vanish. I slouched forward and let out a deep breath.
“I’m sorry,” she said unexpectedly.
“Huh?”
“That we never got to perform that duet
together. Don’t you remember? For the Spring Concert?”
“Oh, yeah. What was that song we were going to
sing?” I asked.
She placed her right hand on her hip and
mock-pouted at me. “James Garraty, don’t tell me you forgot.”
I gave her an impish who, me look. When she smiled, I said in a
more serious tone: “‘Somewhere,’ from West
Side Story.” I hummed the song’s first measure; it sounded a half-octave
off key.
Marty frowned. “You haven’t practiced lately,”
she said disapprovingly.
“No, I haven’t,” I said, and as I said it waves
of melancholy washed over me like a cold dark tide. Marty saw my expression
change; she walked up to me and placed her arm around my shoulder comfortingly.
“I know,” she said softly, “how much you were looking
forward to it, Jim. I was looking forward to singing that
duet with you, too.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really. You’re a terrific singer. Who wouldn’t
want to sing a duet with you?”
“I bet,” I said, “you say that to all the boys.”
She laughed. My heart jumped as it usually did
when she laughed. A thought clicked in my brain: What was it I’d written just a
while ago? You are the one
person who has the ability to brighten up a sour day. You have always managed
to make me return a smile to someone else.
The letter! I had almost forgotten it was still
in my jacket pocket. A horrible idea occurred to me at that moment – I thought
maybe it had slipped out of my pocket as I’d made my way here. I patted my left
side with my free hand – Martina’s arm was still draped around my other
shoulder – until I felt its weight and shape. I carefully reached inside the
pocket and pulled out the now slightly creased envelope.
“What’s that?” asked Marty.
I turned slightly to my right so that I was
facing her. I looked into her lovely hazel eyes. At that instant, I became
aware that if I leaned forward just a bit, I could kiss her. Her arm was
still resting on my shoulder. Suddenly the only thing I wanted to do was to
hold her gently and kiss those lovely lips.
I shook my head. “This,” I said, “is for you.”
She reached for the envelope, but I moved it out
of the way before she could take it. She looked at me with a mixture of
confusion and curiosity. “It is for me, isn’t it?” she asked
peevishly.
“Yes, yes, it is,” I said. “But I need you to
promise me something.”
“What?”
I gathered my steadily dissolving reserves of
courage. I gazed into her eyes again. “Promise me,” I said haltingly, “that you
won’t open this until after the ceremony on Thursday.”
Marty’s eyes narrowed a bit. “Why?”
I pulled the envelope a bit farther away. “Promise me,” I said imploringly.
She sighed. Closed her eyes. Nodded. “All
right,” she said softly, “I promise.”
I pressed the envelope into her free hand. She
accepted it wordlessly.
The school bell rang just then, breaking the
silence that had come between us with a jarring insistent dinging sound.
Startled, Marty removed her arm from my shoulder. I took a small backward step,
feeling a mixture of relief and regret as the physical contact was broken.
“Well,” I said in my best Harrison Ford voice,
“this is it, sweetheart.” I picked up my backpack, turned toward the door and
started to make my exit. As I did, I felt Marty tug at my hand. I stopped dead
in my tracks.
“Hey,” she said gently as I turned around to
face her, “you’re just going to leave without –” She hesitated, then looked
directly into my eyes. “Without a kiss goodbye?”
“Well, I….”
Before I could finish my reply, the most
beautiful girl in South Miami High wrapped her arms around me in a tight
embrace, and, softly, tenderly, placed her lips on mine. Gently, tentatively, I
returned the kiss. I closed my eyes. A million sensations hit me all at once –
the scent of her perfume, the slight taste of strawberries from her lips, the
clean minty taste of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest as she slowly
breathed, the palpable beating of her heart, the welcome warmth of her presence
– and I remembered the lyrics of the song I’d heard in my dream:
Where time's winds blow
That's where you'll be.
Where
love's fires glow
Your smile
I'll see.
Across the
stars
Across the sea
Where
time's winds blow
Our hearts will be.
The wall clock ticked loudly. Almost reluctantly
(or so I thought), Marty broke off the kiss. I opened my eyes and looked shyly
at her. She gave me a sad little smile. She reached out with her right hand and
gave my cheek a gentle caress.
“I’m going to miss you,” she said.
I nodded. “I’m – I’m going to miss you, Marty.”
Outside, hundreds of cheering students ran down
the halls and out the nearest exits. Summer had arrived. Another school year
was now, at long last, over.
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