Dear Reader,
Ghosts from the past can be difficult to exorcise. When I received an invitation to my fiftieth high school reunion, I was ready to ignore it, just as I had done for all the others before. But this time our class president, who has been organizing these things all along, included a personal note. Not only did he ask me to attend but he also dangled another carrot: One of us located our English teacher, and she agreed to meet us for lunch on Saturday.
Three years with Mrs. Pearce was transformational. Every time I reach for my knowledge of the English language, I’m accessing the foundation she built. And the chance to see her again, and to thank her for that gift outweighed any trepidations about seeing old classmates I never liked very much anyway. I said yes, and Walter agreed to join me. And we went, to Burlington, North Carolina. It’s a city I wanted desperately to leave and had no intention of seeing again.
The luncheon was delightful, and I thoroughly enjoyed the chance to reconnect with classmates I did like. Of the twenty-or-so of us in that AP English class, more than half showed up for the tribute to our teacher. It was a satisfying afternoon, indeed. The party that night at the country club was also a pleasure. Even the food was much better than expected. I missed a few classmates who were supposedly there, ones I would have liked to see. The ones I did see were friendly and brimming with stories, some of which I remembered. Some of the other memories, not so much. Did I really crack up while Cyrus was trying to do a scripture reading at church? It sounds like me, actually.
One of my only purely happy memories of childhood is riding the carousel in the city park. It’s one of those great old merry-go-rounds crafted in the early years of the Twentieth Century by Dentzel Carousel Company in Philadelphia. The horses were magnificent, but I think I liked riding the ostriches best of all. Really, a blue ostrich with a saddle. How often do we get the chance? Or a pig with a saddle. Another oddity. It was magical.
I heard, at the party on Saturday night, that the carousel was closed for repairs. I made a pilgrimage to the park anyway, only to find the carousel not only closed but thoroughly shuttered. And on my visit, since it sits on a fairly low-lying spot in the park, the structure was also carefully sand-bagged against possible flood waters from the recent storm. I was saddened by the closure, of course. It would have been satisfying to see the carousel again. Does this mean I have to return to Burlington in a few years? Maybe.
I’m actually returning to North Carolina in my mind every day now (like James Taylor, I suppose). My next novel starts in a fictionalized version of Burlington. Which is another reason I agreed to the trip. More about the new book later. As always, thanks for joining me on this journey.
Bruce
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