The Reunion Name Tag Still Fit
Class of 2009. He lost the hair. I lost the braces. The gym storage closet hadn't changed at all.
Name tags are cruel time machines. MATT—still broad shoulders, new wedding ring.
Me—divorced, confident, drunk on nostalgia and chardonnay.
Tour of the old building "for charity." Storage closet by the gym. Door that never latched.
"We should not," he said.
"We already are," I answered.
Reunion sex is not about people. It's about who we were at seventeen and never got to finish.
Footsteps in the hall. Laughter. We fixed clothes like teenagers again.
Back in the gym we danced with our spouses watching. His wife took photos. I smiled.
Some reunions rewrite history without updating the present.
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