Back to
School . . . by Tessa Gray
School memories are often instrumental
in shaping us, molding us into the
adults we become. They’re the memories we often share at high school or
family reunions. As we look back on our school memories, we often yearn to have
“do-overs” – to be able to right a wrong that’s been done to us or confront
someone who bullied us. Most of us won’t ever have the opportunity to “get
back” at someone who embarrassed or humiliated us. I was fortunate enough to
have that magic moment presented to me on a silver platter. And now . . . allow
me to share my very own “payback is a bitch” moment.
Flashback to 1966 . . . I’m strolling
down the hall of my Minnesota high school (which shall remain nameless). Spring
is in the air and the lush trees outside had begun budding after a grueling
winter. Donning my adorable “A-line” skirt, my white tennis shoes and cream
colored “wigwam” socks, I’ve feeling pretty good about myself. As I rush to my
fifth period class, a loud voice roars through the narrow halls, interrupting
my train of thought.
“Hey, Tessa-wanna go to the prom with
me?”
I whirl around and who do I see but a
short kid I’ve known since grade school; the shy, preacher’s kid I’d probably
engaged in conversation with four times during our entire school careers. I’m
certain I gave this guy, we’ll call him Dexter, a rather furtive glance as I
pretended to mull over my decision.
“Yeah, sure, I guess.”
The look of relief on this guy’s face
was comical. Pulling himself up to his full five foot, four inches, he threw
back his head and breathed an enormous sigh of relief. I often think of that
Clint Eastwood phrase, ‘Go ahead, make my day’ when I recall how pleased Dexter
appeared to be I’d accepted his invitation. I quickly began planning which of
my girlfriends to tell first. Truth be told, I was more excited about attending
the prom than I was having a date with Dexter.
“Thanks for going to prom with me.
We’re going with Barb and Gary.” If only Dexter has simply left it at that-had
not felt compelled to be so brutally honest. But he didn’t. As he blurted out
the rest of his words, my ego plummeted.
“Thank God you agreed to go with me. You’re like the fiftieth girl I’ve
asked.”
Way
to turn a girl’s head.
Too humiliated to continue our
conversation, I slithered through the halls to my history class, already
regretting my decision.
Flash ahead to 2006-my 40th
high school reunion.
As my husband, Jim, and I sat at a
table filled with the reunion attendees in a ballroom of the Crowne Plaza
Hotel, I quickly scanned the group, noting several familiar faces. At that
round table, in the nine o’clock position if you’re describing the hands of a
clock, sits my prom date, Dexter, and his lovely wife. Now, I realize many
would have taken the high road, resisting the urge to remind Dexter about his
comment from forty years ago. Unfortunately, I’m not one of those people. Dr.
Phil would no doubt call me a “right fighter.”
Within the first three minutes of our conversation,
I set the record straight. Like most men, Dexter refused to believe he could
possibly have made such a remark. His wife, fortunately, was well aware that
her husband didn’t have much of a filter. As Dexter gasped and chortled, trying
desperately to deny his embarrassing behavior as a teen, his wife quickly set
the record straight. Leaning over, she stared at me intently, her dark eyes
boring through mine. “I totally believe you,” she replied. “That’s so something Dex would do.”
Of course, all was forgiven. But a
word to the wise might be in order here. Guys…if you ‘dis a woman and behave
poorly, just know this: We never, ever forget.
And while we women have long since finished our schooling, those of us
who write might just put you in our next book. So…watch your back.
