Leg Two: Smith College Reunion

Friday

7:00 a.m. It's hard to leave both Marshfield and my family behind, but I'm also bursting with excitement for the weekend ahead. I haven't missed a reunion since graduation and I'm never disappointed, even when it rains the entire time like it did five years ago.

I take the commuter rail with David and Jarrah, who will be walking to the Children's Museum from South Station after they drop me off. I'll be hitching a ride to Northampton (about 90 miles) with my friend Kimie, whom I haven't seen in 10 years.

The plan goes without a hitch, and Kimie gets to chat with Jarrah and give her a Boston Red Sox bear before we sail away on the Mass Pike. I feel a twinge for leaving David as a single parent, but I adroitly put it out of my mind and focus on the moment. It is so wonderful to see Kimie, who's looking more beautiful than ever. I don't think we stop talking for one second during our drive--not sure if it's all the back story to cover, or the large iced coffee I got at the station. Either way, I am so happy to have her all to myself for two hours.

The cell phone, happily, starts ringing before we've even left Boston--how did we do reunions before them?--and we'll be meeting Re, who just flew in from Seattle, for lunch. We check in at Alumnae House and receive our house and room assignments, name tags, and a sash in our class color (blue) for the Ivy Parade the next morning. Our house is Washburn, part of the Green St. complex, and I've never been there. It's a little run-down compared to some of the palaces they call "houses," but I love it instantly because my window has a view of Seelye Hall, where I took most of my classes.

I feel a little insecure at first, because all of my friends are assigned doubles, and I'm in a single. This hearkens back to my early '20s, when I constantly worried that I was being left out of something. Luckily, I've had therapy, and about 5 minutes later I'm thinking, "Woohoo! My own room with a view for two whole days! I can stay up late reading and no one will wake me up in the morning." The room is cell-like, but I've brought an ambient sound machine and a super-plush bed throw. Instead of bolting awake every time I hear a noise in the hallway (weird how 20 years makes what was once normal, strange) or shivering under my thin, scratchy blanket, I snooze to the sound of ocean waves, snuggling what feels like a bed-sized bunny.

Kimie and I unpack, after running into Re and Patty (in from Portland, ME) and agreeing to meet them at the new student center. This running into people is one of my favorite parts of reunion. You don't just "run into" people at home. But at reunion there's a serendipity to what comes next, it all depends on who you "run into" and where they're going. I love it because I'm hardly ever spontaneous in my real life.

The new student center, just under way after our last reunion, has a lot to live up to, since I had a special bond with the old Davis Center that went beyond the simple perfection of their hamburgers and chocolate frappes (pronounced FRAPS in MA parlance.) I was a DJ upstairs, I went to dances there, I studied in the tiny wooden booths, I wondered mightily about the young dude who often made my sandwiches. Davis and I, we had a history.

But the new center is gorgeous, lots of glass, a salad bar, and a spacious room filled with orange furniture called...The Goldstein Lounge! All weekend, I point to the sign and say "Why do they keep bugging me for donations? I mean, haven't I done ENOUGH?" There's a cool new bookstore downstairs (latest t-shirt: "No, it's not a girl's school with no men, it's a women's college with no BOYS.") Kimie and I join Patty and Re and eat our Asian Fusian salad extravaganzas--I must confess mine is sort of gross. Bring back grilled cheese and chicken fingers! I am a bit shocked to see the soda machine--Smith was righteously against "soda on demand" at meals when I was there.

Further phone calls reveal that Claire is on her way from Boston, and Carolyn and Grace from New York City via Darien, CT. Kimie and I take a walk downtown and run into my friend Pam (more on her in Leg Three) which is a nice surprise. We crow over the shops that are still there after all these years, and the ones that have sprung up on Main St. without our permission (like Starbucks.) Back at the room, we get ready for our evening plans downtown and I suddenly hear "That's what Sam said..." from the stairwell. "And what did I say?" I smile, opening the door for Grace. I can see Carolyn bolt past her up the stairs, which seems odd and unfriendly. "That's not Carolyn," Kimie says matter-of-factly. "I believe it's Jacqui."

Jacqui is our friend from freshmen year--she lived in Lamont House with us, and was a senior at the time. Smith believes in all classes living together as a sort of mentoring system. I guess a lot of people would say Jacqui is "a character," but since that's already been said hundreds of times, I'll just say she's one of the funniest people I've ever met, and I could talk to her for hours. But it didn't make sense that she'd be here, since she's class of '85. We run up the stairs and yup, there she was, hoping to surprise us later. Surprise! I haven't talked to her in 10 years (sensing a theme here?) so it was just amazing to have her standing there when I hadn't had an inkling she'd been coming. Turns out Carolyn and Grace were in on it (makes sense--they drove her) and so we were all on our way to Packard's.

The fact that Kimie had the presence of mind to reserve the Library Room at Packard's is just too perfect. Packard's was the site of many a debauched evening during my nine years in the Happy Valley, too many to count or even remember. Some of the bad dates I described during NaBloPoMo even took place there. It's a dark, woody bar that serves excellent burgers. The Library Room is totally private and seats about 15, so we make a cozy crowd for several hours of drinking and noshing. After my strawberry margarita, I know I am talking a lot louder than strictly necessary, and I keep having these out-of-body flashes of awareness, like "The first time I came here was with these same people, 24 years ago. Am I different now? Am I really older?"

Afterwards, I am determined not to go home, but I guess we are older, because several of the gals beg off due to absurd things like jet lag or a wakeful baby back at home. I suggest Fitzwilly's, which makes everyone laugh because it's another institution, but not exactly cool--there's no music or "scene." But I just want a comfortable place to talk to my friends. We order dessert at the same table I had five years ago. By midnight, everyone is yawning copiously, though I am fighting it.

Back at Washburn, we flop in the living room awhile (Smith tradition--aimless hanging around when you should be studying or sleeping) and then repair to our rooms and that historical gathering place, the hall bathroom. It's not often as adults that you see your girlfriends in their pajamas, flossing their teeth. I kind of love it. I huddle in my bed, mind racing across the events of the day, and then drift into a deep sleep. Good thing, because it's an early start for the parade.

Saturday

I wake bright and early to the sound of girls laughing in the hall. Not my friends, I know, since they've all warned me they'll be sleeping until the last minute. I shower and dress in my parade "whites," and head over to Tyler for breakfast. Back in the day, all Smith houses had their own dining room, but they've been consolidating in recent years. (Trivia: Tyler House has a swing in front featured in Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf?) My new white flip-flops are killing me, and I end up limping back to Washburn to change. I emerge to a crowd near Seelye. In the Alumnae Parade, the classes proceed in order of chronology--at this reunion, the oldest class is 1933. There aren't many of them, but the class of 1938 is well-represented. Each class carries signs that pertain to their era--some are funny, some give me a lump in my throat. In any case, there isn't a dry eye in the house when the ladies march towards us as we line the path on both sides, getting younger and younger until it's our turn to join them. I used to enjoy this parade while feeling fairly disconnected from the hand of Father Time, but now it feels pretty personal. For one thing, we're not at the end anymore. And I can't help scrutinizing each year until I think they "all look pretty good" (about 1968) and then furiously console myself that's still 20 years of reunions away.

When we start marching, we don't go very far, just to a grouping of chairs on Burton Lawn around the corner, where we are greeted by someone from the Alumnae House. What follows is a "meeting" comprised mostly of a tally of which class has raised what amount of money. I am in a long line of my friends, sitting next to Patty. It's the only time I am alone with her. When we rise to sing the college anthem, it's not what I remember.

After, a group of us head back to the student center for lunch. I get to find out if the burgers are still as good as they were at Davis. (They are, but the fries are suffering.) After lunch, we browse the bookstore and run into more gals who lived with us freshmen year and then suddenly we are late for the Class of '88 meeting which can't be missed because Noriko and I are on the ballot for co-class secretary. Class secretary is responsible for writing the quarterly class column for the alumnae magazine, so it's an important job. We crash into the room a few minutes late, and Re whispers, "You just got voted in." So that's it--we miss the whole thing--but all four candidates are going to share the job.

After a quick nap, I knock on Grace's door (waking her up) and we head downtown. First, we stop in a new children's shop where I buy Jarrah a super-hero cape (a phase). Then we check out a used bookstore that I don't remember, either, and I buy Life of Pi, even though the description sounds like I would hate it (I don't.) Then we run into Jean, who'd arrived that morning, and spontaneously go for coffee at the Haymarket, a place that looks like a literal hole in the wall but has a huge, cave-like room under the ground. We have an intense discussion about having and raising children while I savor my very gingery molasses cookie, and I note that this kind of discussion was so common when I was at Smith--a group of women debating some heady issue into the wee hours over a pizza in the hallway or a coffee downtown. We stay until it's almost time for cocktail hour.

On the way up the hill, I get a voicemail from Carolyn, who says she's at the museum, and spur of the moment, we head there to meet her. It's almost closing, but there's a really cool mini-collection of Sandy Skoglund photos near the door that provides insta-fun. We end up in the gift shop, where the jewelry is both fabulous and expensive, before they boot us out. I make a note to come back the next day, but it never happens.

We lose Grace, somehow, but Kimie calls and says she's at Paradise Pond and do we want to come over? I persuade Carolyn we have time, and I get to spend some time alone with her during our walk. The sun is dappling through the lush trees as we stroll through campus, admiring the new and the familiar. The pond comes into view, striking in the late afternoon shadow. We sit on a stone bench overlooking the boathouse (we can see Kimie down below, chatting with Hilary) and marvel how this view never gets old. I remember the first time someone showed me Paradise Pond, I said: "Where I come from, we call this a lake." You can skate on it in winter, and in the spring you can check rowboats and canoes out of the boathouse.

David calls--they are trying to find us. I've concocted an elaborate plan for him to join us for dinner (with a very BRIEF opportunity for everyone to meet Jarrah) by signing her up for an evening of childcare provided by the reunion committee. Amazingly, it goes off without a hitch--Jarrah loves "camp," and David gets to enjoy an adult evening with a filet mignon dinner followed by an improv comedy show courtesy of "The Ha Ha Sisterhood." They are really good and very smart, and I'm impressed that an '88-er up and decided to do something really brave in her late '30s.

It's a lovely evening for Illumination, during which the campus is lit by hundreds of colorful Japanese lanterns. There's a jazz band, too. It occurs to me that the campus is very quiet because it's an "off" reunion--not on Commencement weekend, when all the seniors and their families would be here, too. Our 25th will be on Commencement weekend, and after two "off" I'm probably going to be a little shell-shocked. As it gets closer to 10:00, David goes to pick up Jarrah, who is thrilled to join us for a stroll. We want to get some coffee or a drink at the Student Center, but it's already closed. Back at Washburn, a bunch of us stand around talking about going downtown. We're diverted for a while by hide-and-seek with Jarrah. Carolyn is a particularly good hider, and Jarrah is loving her. It hurts my heart a little that I've never seen her with children before, even though her two boys are older than Jarrah. It's really weird how little we all see each other now, outside of reunions.

I head downtown with Grace, Kimie, Claire, Noriko and Jean, and not much seems to be open, even though it's Saturday night. But a new pizza place called Sam's says "Open 'til 3:00 a.m." so in we go. They have some pretty weird toppings (pulled pork?) but the slices are good and we really just want a place to sit down and hang out with a drink. We talk about family and school and religion and all the "big" topics that no Smith woman ever shies away from--we are not polite small-talkers, my Smith friends and me. I really miss that.

I'm back at Washburn before midnight, and the bathroom is already quiet. I brush my teeth in a pensive mood and read my book in bed to the sound of laughing women walking by my window. I feel a little ache already, knowing the time has already zoomed by faster than I could appreciate.

Sunday

In the morning, I eat breakfast at Tyler with a gang of people, most of whom I don't know very well. It's weird to realize that I don't have that much desire to meet people at these events; I just want to focus on the ones I already know. The breakfast turns even weirder when a current rising senior takes the seat next to me and declaims for at least 10 minutes about how she calls the Northampton police on her roommates if they don't follow her "rules." She seems, as they say, "bats--- crazy," and I muse "That's funny, they didn't have crazy people when I was here." Then I remember that they did. And that I hung out with them.

There's some depressing packing (throwing everything in the room into my bag without looking at it) and some coming and going with suitcases and cars and concerns about flight times. We decide we all have time for brunch downtown, but not at Sylvester's, which has an hour wait. We go back to the Haymarket, and it's very good. David and Jarrah join us, as well as Claire's partner and their daughter. Jarrah wants to follow Carolyn everywhere, and is talking nonstop when I'm trying to hear my friends. I feel gloomy, like we are all facing a firing squad after this, even though the herbed scrambled eggs are perfect and everyone is laughing and talking a mile a minute.