I went to my 25th high school reunion with my friend Amy this past weekend. And, after spending a little over 12 hours with her, I started writing. She is an absolute delight to be around and, I'm realizing, acts as a bit of a muse. I started writing the following in my post about the reunion, but things were running long so I saved it to post later. It seems a waste not to share.
***
Amy is always sardonically cheerful and brutally truthful. She has an
open, honest, pretty face that allows her to ask unapologetically and
without retribution for what she wants--a window booth at a restaurant, a
better parking space, a reasonable discount on her car insurance (I
made these up, but you get the point)--while earnestly asking pointed questions and observing her surroundings with a critical yet
unassuming eye--wondering who catered a party, noticing a man who seems
to be looking down a woman's shirt, quietly suggesting you "lose the
sweater" when, say, you're getting ready for your 25th high school
reunion. In short, I adore her and I adore her ability to come across as
a really sweet lady when deep down she is the tiger.
To her credit, when aforementioned sweater-wearer ignored her sage advice, Amy did not mention it again.
One
of her most admirable traits, however, is her ability to know the right
thing to do. I have many friends like this, but Amy has perfected it.
She knows how to dress; she knows to offer a cocktail to someone who is
anxious at a party; she knows to ask the right questions. And, when
someone is not acting with manners or good grace, she flutters her eyes
in slight indignation, sighs quietly, and either laughs appreciatively
in the case of someone flirting with a dangerous proposition like
sleeping with her high-school boyfriend--something we witnessed--or
walks away in disgust, such as when someone asks her what she does and
continues to push her for answers until she really answers him. "This is what I do..." And, he starts glancing over her shoulder, disinterested, unaffected.
She was irritated by that. Not because he wasn't interested, but because he feigned interest and then ignored her.
Her
irritation always intrigued me but also acted as a compass in social
situations. Case in point: At the end of a very long high-school reunion night, we got off
the elevator in our hotel after last call to discover a pack of
our old high school peers--most of them popular in high school, I had
recently discovered. They seemed excited to see us and asked whether we
had any alcohol in our room. The answer to that question was no, said
with a smile and a laugh.
"Oh well," they said and
molded back into an impenetrable wall of gorgeous hair, nice watches, and
Spanxed bellies. As we walked down the hall, fully aware that we no
longer existed for them, we heard someone announce within the group they
should all pile back into their cars and head to someone's house for
more partying. We, as you can imagine, were not invited.
We got back into the room and Amy was irritated. "Can you believe them?"
"What," I said. "They're going drinking....?"
"No.
They asked us whether we had booze and when we didn't, they ignored us.
They didn't even have the grace to ask us whether we wanted to come
with them. They didn't even pretend to ask us."
"Would you have wanted to go drinking with them?" I asked incredulously.
Her eyes fluttered closed and she smiled slightly as she shook her head.
"Sarah."
She sighed.
"That isn't the point."
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