A Million Little Pieces Of My Mind

New York

Michael's 40th Class Reunion

By: Paul S Cilwa Posted: 10/18/2009 Page Views: 1,175
Hashtags: #Places #NewYork #Eastchester
I accompany Michael to his 40th high school reunion.
Estimated reading time: 3 minute(s) (537 words)

I had a great time at my 40th high school reunion earlier this year. So did Michael. Mine was a small class (42 graduates) and we had already worked out most of our "issues" years ago, so it was just a gathering of old friends with little in common but our 12 years of shared scholastic history.

Michael's 40th high school reunion promised to be more stressful, as his relatively large class of 260 graduates had not kept in close touch through the years (with some exceptions), and its members had each had a small circle of friends rather than everyone knowing everyone well, as was the case in my high school. Moreover, Michael would have to not only come out of the closet for the first time to most of his classmates, but have to explain an unrelated name change. So he really wanted me there for moral support, as did our friend, Barbara, who was the only one of his classmates with whom Michael had kept in close touch.

Considering that we moved into a new house just last weekend, and still haven't really unpacked, I didn't really want to fly to New York this weekend. But duty called, and I answered.

Michael flew out Thursday, staying at a Newark Airport Holiday Inn overnight until I arrived on Friday. I flew out on Continental, a non-stop 5-hour flight without food or entertainment other than my seat which was apparently designed by the Marquis de Sade. However, I barely noticed as I was still exhausted from the move so slept the entire way. Once in Newark, I picked up my rental car from Hertz, then attempted to drive to Michael's Holiday Inn which was across the street from the airport and could be seen from there.

This was easier said than done. I had brought my GPS but not even it could guide me through the tangled spaghetti maze of exits, entrances, overpasses, underpasses and bypasses that make up the combined lanes of New Jersey Turnpike, Garden State Parkway, and various Interstate Highways. Nuking it all and starting over could only be an improvement.

The basic problem is one I've found common to all the Middle Atlantic States: arrogance. The people there assume that everyone else knows everything they know. Signs, therefore, are superfluous and only grudgingly supplied, far too close to the actual exit to assist in deciding which lane to occupy. And the traffic, even at off-peak hours, is too dense to allow a last-minute lane change. So I kept finding myself bullied into the wrong turn-off. In my attempt to cross the road to the Airport Holiday Inn, I found myself in Rahway, and then Bayonne. I literally screamed and pounded the steering wheel in frustration.

The saving grace was my cell phone; at least I could keep Michael posted and not worry that he thought I'd stood him up, as I did twelve years ago when I met him in New Jersey for a date—about an hour late, and for the same reason.

Anyway, I did get him eventually and once we got out of the chaotic hellhole that is Northern New Jersey my mood improved.