The man teased, “You North Shore kids sure have a lot of high school reunions.” His wife smiled, “We’re not kids any more, but thanks.”
They were enjoying dinner at a table for two in one of the outdoor cafes that sprout up around here every summer. She’d been talking about an upcoming reunion. In the quiet, open air of early evening, eavesdropping on their conversation was unavoidable…
As he sipped a beer, the man reminded his wife that her class had a reunion not long ago. And this new one wouldn’t even be for a milestone year. Just an odd year.
“Odd,” he said, setting down his beer. This drink was an uncommon choice, as most diners were having wine, or a Kool-Aid-colored martini.
“Sorry, honey,” she said. “You didn’t grow up on the North Shore. You just can’t understand.”
He nodded, and agreed that she was right about his far-off, big-city high school holding few sentimental attachments.
As they ate, he gazed at the village streetscape around them. Buildings with gabled rooftops. Old-fashioned lampposts. Rows of summertime trees. He looked at the glowing lanterns on the outdoor cafe’s tables and the casual, comfortable diners.
You can almost read this guy’s mind, and figure you know where the conversation is going. You continue to listen in.
“Well,” he said. “I’m not sorry I didn’t grow up around here,” “Because,” he added with a smile, “If I did, I’d probably take it for granted, and never appreciate how cool this place is.”
His wife smiled. “It is pretty cool, isn’t it?”