Reunion - short story

As there is little to say today that has not already been said many times over, how about another short story.


I noticed her the moment I entered the room. She didn't belong there. She was just as beautiful as she had been twenty years before, the last time I had seen her. I took a seat at the bar and glanced around the room. The reunion was being held in the Elks Club, an attractive two-story brick building immediately across the street from what had been my home, the house now converted to an antique store. The bar was large and shaped like a horseshoe. Through an open doorway I could see the cardroom where my now long-departed father had spent most of his spare time. He rarely stayed home even when not working.
From my position at the bar I examined Rosie as if for the first time. She was as I remembered her: gorgeous, with lovely smooth light olive-brown skin, raven-black hair, a slight widow's peak, lustrous large brown eyes, slender well-formed legs, small-waisted, high-breasted, five feet two, perfectly proportioned. She was sitting with a small group of women at the far end of the dance floor, all of whom, except for Rosie, I recognized as former classmates.
The silver, lead, zinc and gold mines that surrounded our town had attracted miners from far and wide. Among them were many Irish and Italians. There were also Swedes and Norwegians, Finns and Frenchmen, English and Germans, and others as well. I do not recall any overt acts of discrimination towards anyone but there were, of course, perjoratives in everyday speech, such as "wops" and "dagos" and "shanty Irish," and others. But as these expressions were rarely hurled as insults or even used in the presence of those to whom they referred they did little to upset the prevailing ethos. Interestingly, the two categories of people most disdained were "Niggers" and “Missourians.” As no black people lived in our town this term was also not much of a problem although it was often heard. The townspeople boasted that the sun would never set again on a black person in our town and, as far as I know, it never has. Blacks and Missourians were held in contempt because both at one time or another had been brought in as strikebreakers. Once the strikes were under control the Black battalion had moved on. A few Missourians had remained to work in the mines themselves. They often found themselves in fights with the local miners whose opinions of strikebreakers were strong, unforgiving, and remarkably long lasting.
All of the twenty bar stools were occupied, all but one by men. I recognized the lone woman as an ex-cheerleader. She had been cute rather than beautiful but now sat with wrinkles and bulging eyeballs looking twice her age. The twenty years had not been kind to her. She was already drunk and desperate for attention, simultaneously pitiful and repulsive. Small groups of men stood holding their drinks, talking and laughing. The few small tables were crowded with mixed groups doing the same. I recognized most of them including two men who, like Rosie, did not belong there. They were from a nearby town, our traditional rivals. One of them, Joey Costello, had been a boxer and football player of some note. He had been short and heavy-set, now he was short and fat. Very fat. He sat at the bar like Humpty Dumpty, round as a ball. We had all called him "Mousie" although I never understood why. Decidedly not handsome, Mousie had always been popular. He was funny and very Italian, from a large family. When asked, he would tell you that he lived "three whore houses and two bars down Railroad avenue," which was, in fact, true. His father owned the buildings where these businesses flourished.
The other man was a lifetime friend of Joey's, Johnny Pechi. He, too, had been an athlete: a football, basketball and track star of sorts. He was well built, still trim, and seemed to have no interest in anything other than his previous High School athletic prowess. He was loud and obnoxious with jug ears and a noticeable gap between his front teeth. Even so, he was not really bad looking. Eavesdropping on their conversation, it became obvious they had simply invited themselves to our reunion to reminisce and drink beer.
A small local band began to play popular dance music, including songs we had danced to twenty years previously. They played badly but no one seemed to mind. Only a few people danced. Finally, emboldened by drink and still curious about Rosie, I crossed the dance floor and asked her to dance. I feared she might refuse but she smiled and rose gracefully and held out her hand.
It was a slow piece and not too loud to prevent conversation.
"Rosie," I began, "I'm surprised to see you here. I mean, you know, you weren't in our class and never had much to do with us before. So how is it you're here at the reunion?"
Rosie had attended a Catholic School rather than our Public School. The two groups of students rarely had anything to do with each other.
"I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Johnny," she said. "He wanted to come and insisted that I come too."
"Johnny? Johnny Pechi? What's he got to do with it?”
"Oh, don't you know? He's my husband."
"You're married to Johnny Pechi?" I'm sure she noticed the surprised disbelief in my voice. "No, I didn't know. I haven't been here for twenty years and I'm sorry to say I haven't kept in touch with anyone, especially since my parents died."
I was surprised, even shocked to learn that Rosie had married Johnny Pechi. But it took only a moment to realize that of course it was perfectly understandable. They were both Italian Catholics. Rosie's parents must have insisted on such a husband. Johnny Pechi was from a respectable Italian family in a nearby town. Rosie had obviously been raised for just such a marriage.
"We've been married for almost twenty years," Rosie reported, with what I interpreted as a touch of resignation.
"Do you have children?"
"No, no children." She offered no explanation.
"Are you happy?"
"Oh, yes. I guess I'm as happy as one can expect to be." She didn't sound happy.
"Isn't it strange," I continued. "I've known you all my life but didn't actually know you at all. You kids from the Academy just didn't mix with the rest of us. It was like we were from two completely separate worlds even though we all lived here together in the same small town."
"Yes, it was strange I guess. My parents raised me as a strict Catholic. They didn't encourage me to be around anyone who wasn't Catholic. But what about you? You must be married."
"Divorced."
"Divorced!" Rosie emphasized it with disbelief.
"Unfortunately, yes. I have two children but they live with their mother."
"How awful." Rosie turned to look towards her husband.
The music stopped. I returned Rosie to where she had been sitting.
"Thank you," she said gently.
"Thank you, Rosie."
I returned to the bar and took a seat as far from the cheerleader as I could. It was an end seat and I turned away from everyone to stare at the wall. I thought about the Academy, an ugly three-story brick building sitting on one corner of an otherwise empty city block. Although there had been a small playground there was no grass. The whole area around the school was just dirt. We rarely saw any of the Nuns that ran the Academy. I think they lived on the third floor. To me they were as alien as if they had come from outer space. I knew nothing of what went on at the Academy. True, I sometimes heard the students complaining about catechism, but I had no idea what that was. Although I recognized children that attended the Academy, like Rosie, I knew little or even nothing about them.
Our Public High School, although much larger and somewhat more attractive than the Academy, was on the opposite side of town. It, too, had an absolutely bare playing field with a few broken-down swings and slides. Our football team, almost all tough miner’s sons, took pride in the fact they played on bare ground rather than grass. As the Academy kids didn't play organized sports, we rarely thought of them at all.
"Rosie, I always thought you were the most beautiful girl in town." We were dancing again. What I said was true.
"Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"How could I have? We never talked apart from saying hello."
"I know. I always wanted to talk with you. I liked you. You had such a nice smile." Rosie spoke softly but seriously. I held her closer. She did not resist.
I began to feel I had been cheated of something, that my life had been incomplete, that I had been denied something that might have been very important to me. I heard Johnny Pechi's loud braying laughter and turned to watch him. God! He's such a boor, I thought. The idea of Rosie being married to him was almost more than I could bear.
People continued to drink and talk and laugh. A few more couples appeared on the dance floor. Johnny never once danced with his wife. Indeed, he showed no interest in her whatsoever. He was intent on reliving his mostly imaginary athletic triumphs. The cheerleader was passed out at the bar. Joey had a half-dozen people in stitches with his endless outrageous stories.
Mysteriously, and without speaking of it, Rosie and I now began to dance every dance except the occasional fast ones that we sat out together.
"Rosie, you truly are beautiful. I wish I had been able to know you before. I feel like I've been cheated. And for what a silly reason. I didn't realize back then just how strange the situation was. You were an Italian and a Catholic and went to the Academy. I went to the Public School. But how absurd that we allowed that to have kept us so far apart. My family never had any bad feelings towards Italians or Catholics although I'm sure some people did. I guess your family just didn't want you to have anything to do with us.”
"Yes, you're right. My parents were strict. They thought people didn't like us because we were Italians and Catholics. They had no friends who were not just like they were. Sometimes I wish it had been different. But it doesn't matter now. It's too late to change anything." Rosie's voice was soft and she spoke with such a pensive and melancholy tone I was overcome with sadness and regret.
Rosie said little after that. Over time she moved closer and closer. Johnny was drunk and still babbling loudly about his increasingly imaginary exploits. He paid no attention to us. Through her thin cotton summer dress I could feel all of her lovely body. Her lightly perfumed hair was soft against my cheek, her hand was small and moist in mine. We became unaware of anyone or anything except each other. People began to leave. When the band at last played Auld Lang Syne we clung tightly to each other. With tears in my eyes I felt her quiet sobbing.