The Reunion

         “It will be $ 18.50,” the Cabbie said in some Middle Eastern dialect, as he slows to a stop in front of the Smithville Holiday Inn.
         Clutching a fifth of Jack Daniels Black, I lean forward from the darkness of the backseat. Peering out through bloodshot eyes, I scan the side walk looking for familiar faces. Did I really expect to see anyone? After all, I purposely arrived two hours late to avoid confrontation. Seeing no one, I took swig of Jack, checked my hair, dropped two tens on the front seat and slid out of the cab.
         As I watch the cab drive away, I think to myself. “You’ve certainly come a long way, Bill Carden. The wrong way."
Ten years ago it was a stretch limo that ceremoniously delivered me to this same location, much to the envy of my fellow classmates. I smiled, remembering how I arrived twenty minutes early and then had the chauffeur drive around the block five times for maximum exposure. Ten years ago it was Brooks Brother Suits, Dom Perignon and some nameless Hollywood wanna be starlet on my arm. Ten years ago it was a seven figure income and a five bedroom luxury penthouse across from Central Park. Ten years ago it was being quoted every other week in the Journal.  Then came the housing bubble and Lehman Brothers. Today it’s a cab ride and a bottle of Jack. And the cab ride is a luxury.
I had been rich all my life. I didn’t know any other way. Staring down at my dirty hands, I took a deep breath and whispered. “Yep..a long way.” 
         The teleprompter in the hotel lobby stated that the Smithville High Twenty Year Reunion was being held in the Mahogany Ballroom. The diagram below showed that to be down the hall and two doors to the right.
         Walking down the hall, I can feel it. Building, like an unstoppable snowball in the pit of my stomach. At first, I hope it is the booze, but my negative brain latches on to it, and makes me think and procrastinate. I start thinking about what awaits me at the end of the hall. The ridicule, the condescending stares, the pointed fingers. The  failure.  Nothing can stop me from prodding and poking that word failure in my mind. Swirling it ever faster, I wallow in the feeling, as it escalates into panic.
         As I approach the door to the ballroom, my heart starts beating harder and faster, my adrenaline levels rise, my balls try to crawl inside my body and my brain begins to fire out negative thoughts like a machine gun. I begin to see things. I wouldn’t call them hallucinations, but they are very strong visions were I see myself in the middle of the ballroom, crying, falling to the floor, upsetting and confusing those around me. I believe these visions are my future. This is what awaits me on the other side of the door and there is nothing I can do about it.
         I begin to sweat. It feels as though my skin has another hot skin outside of it, like a big bag, it moves over my body and will not release me. The negative thoughts keep coming like waves on rocks. I start to project my feelings into the future. The fear paralyzes me.
          Hyperventilating now, I quickly find a couch and take a seat to collect myself. I feel if my mind is playing chess against itself and has me totally checkmated. There are no possible escape routes and I am utterly and completely trapped. .I pull the Jack Daniels from my coat and take a healthy dose of courage. Running the back of my hand across my lips, I wondered what I was doing here. Hadn’t I thrown the invitation away when it arrived in the mail? Then today, leaving work from JC Penny, suddenly, out of the blue I remember tonight is the night. Two hours at O’Malley’s pub trying to drink this day away, a passing cab and, bingo, here I am. I have to get out of here or I will surely die. Steadying myself, I rise from the couch, looking for the nearest exit.
         “Bill. Bill Carden. Is that you?” A female voice rang out behind me.
         I turn to Sally Switzer, ex head cheerleader, scurrying across the hall. “Gezz. She looks better today than she did in school.” I garner a fake smile, knowing my private hell has just begun.
         “Why it surely is,” she says, giving me a long, squeeze of a hug.
         I feel my jaw hit the floor. “What’s this? In school this girl never gave me the time of day. I’m amazed she remembers my name.”
         Pulling away, she takes my hand and leads me back to the couch. “Sit, please.” With a sympathetic smile she continues. “I want you to know how worried I’ve been about you since all this terrible mess happened. I honestly don’t think there’s been a Sunday that you have not been in my prayers.”
         Rubbing my forehead I wait for the punch line. Thinking, this to be some well conceived ruse to degrade me further, I looked for the others that are surely hiding in the wings waiting to spring into action.
         Sally squeezes my hands tighter. “I am so sorry for your loss. Your wife, your job and, oh my god ..bankruptcy. And to have it splattered all over those New York papers like that” She shook her head.  “How does one survive?”
         “Camera.” I thought, as paranoia takes over.  Ignoring Sally, I began scanning the hallway looking for the hidden camera that must be taping this, feeding pictures back into the ballroom. I can hear the roar of laughter as the ballroom doors open.
         “Sally?”  I looked up to see a man approaching, someone I should remember, but cannot not name. “Are you coming back the party?”
          Sally stands. “Tommy? You remember Bill Carden, don’t you?”
         I closed my eyes and shake my head. Great, Tommy Maddox!  Just what had I called  him at the last reunion? Oh, yeah. Something like “Small town hero, big city zero.” Geezz, what an asshole I was back then.
         Tommy stood there, his eyes gazing intently upon me, as if trying to remember who I was.  Nodding his head, a smile slowly creeps across his face.
         I look away and think. “Here it comes.”
         Tommy places his hand on my shoulder. “Everyone has been asking about you, Bill. We weren’t sure you’d show. Sure takes some guts, after what you’ve been through.”
         Sally nods in agreement.
         “I just want you to know,” Tommy continues, “that if there is anything, and I mean anything, that I can do for you. Don’t hesitate.”
         Head spinning, sweat pouring from my body, I try to make sense of what makes no sense at all. What in the name of Sam Hill is going on here? These people should despise me for they way I ridiculed and demeaned them ten years earlier. Me, with that pompous air of unearned wealth, which was all a fraud. Acting, as if I knew it all and they knew nothing. Sadly, while the former clearly wasn't true, the latter now seemed to be.
         Tommy hands me a handkerchief. Gesturing towards the ballroom door, he says, “Come on, Bill. Let’s go inside and see everyone.”
         “I can’t go in there.” My eyes widen with fear as I shoot from the couch.
         Sally reassuringly takes my hands and leads me to the door, “Of course you can, Bill. You’re with friends.”
         Entering the ballroom I feel my head spinning, my heart racing out of control. A hush cascades across the room as all eyes turn towards me. I try to bolt, but Tommy has a firm grip on my elbow. Slowly, as if choreographed, they all start in my direction. Here it comes, I think, the master plan is about to go into action. I can already feel the humiliation, the shame.
         That night, I truly learned the most important value of my life. I learned who my true friends really were. It seemed as if every classmate beat a path in my direction, expressing their concern, their sympathy or offering a kind word. I learned these people, these wonderful people, cared not for who I was, not what I was, nor what I had become. Ten years ago it mattered not to them if I had all the money in the world, as today it mattered more that I had nothing but the shirt on my back. What they did care about, genuinely cared about, was me.