My husband and I are out for the evening. Our destination is of little importance. We could be online for movie tickets or waiting for our table in a restaurant. Or even preparing to board the first flight to Mars.
It doesn’t matter. Invariably he will run into someone he knows from high school.
What makes this astonishing is that his class had 200 students, while mine had about 900. And yet, I bump into nobody.
So, these old acquaintances acknowledge each other with great surprise and delight and join us at the dinner table. Or plan to meet after the movie. What ensues for them is a thoroughly enjoyable three-way conversation about old times. I sit and smile.
My husband grew up in a small town on Long Island, New York. For those not from the New York area, Long Island is a strip of land that is part of Brooklyn, although its inhabitants would rather jump in the Long Island Sound with rocks in their pockets than admit it.
In addition to fluorinated water and inoculations against whooping cough, I’m convinced children growing up in his town were implanted with a homing device that enables them to find each other in any situation. I refuse to believe these encounters are coincidence. As a result, I’ve become a silent participant in get-togethers during which I witness, somewhat enviously, their nostalgia.
This winter there have been three such occasions, and as an observer, I have noticed a pattern. Each reunion seems to have three essential ingredients.
These are: “The Medical Update,” “The Geography Game,” and an activity that I’ve named “Alive or Dead?”
The Medical Update is a general review of everyone’s body parts. In this segment, we’re informed about hip surgeries, knee replacements, shoulder operations, and who knows the best doctor for your right arm between the elbow and the wrist.
This inventory is followed up with the “organ recital,” and includes any pertinent information about liver, kidneys, pancreas, and of course, the heart. Cholesterol count is optional.
The Geography Game is one of my favorites, although it can become contentious. It starts when those who no longer live in the hometown ask those who do about historic landmarks.
“Remember Romeo’s Pizza on Main Street? Is it still there?”
“That wasn’t on Main Street. That was on Jones Street, across from the movies.”
Similar inquiries take place regarding the bowling alley, kosher butcher, and the pharmacy with the best egg creams. Or was that malteds?
Finally, we arrive at that inevitable part of the evening when the discussion turns to former classmates who aren’t present at the current gathering.
“Whatever happened to Bill Mason?” “Didn’t he die recently?” “Are you crazy? He isn’t dead. I just spoke to him.”
“Are you sure you spoke to him? Because I heard he was dead.”
Despite the small disagreements about what was where, and so-and-so’s mortality, the evening is congenial and thoroughly enjoyed by everyone. Even me, although I’m not an integral part of the original group.
I’m sure it would be no different if it were my old neighborhood and high school friends. If only I could find them. People of Brooklyn, you’ve got to get out more!
