Class Reunion
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I was nearly ready for bed when the telephone rang. Hastily smoothing my night cream, I slipped into my negligee and sat on the side of my bed to take the call.
"Is that......?" a female voice asked, using the name I have long discarded.
"Yes", I replied guardedly after a pause.
"I don't suppose you will remember me. Elizabeth Price. We were at school together."
Of course I remember her.
And all her friends. Denise, Maureen, Joyce, Beryl, Margaret, Hilary and the other girls in our mixed class at the local grammer school, more years ago than I care to enumerate. I could remember the desks at which we all sat, the boys on the right facing the teacher, the girls on the left.
Classes were not so large those days, only twenty five in our year. Some of the girls, now mature women with husbands and families, had got together and thought it would be fun to organise a class reunion.
Elizabeth and I chatted for hours on the phone, reminiscing about old times. She gave me the date and time of the reunion and exhorted me to come and to bring me any memorabilia of school life, especially old photographs if I had any. I stalled for time, said I wasn't sure that I could make it, suggested that I ring her back in a day or two to tell her whether I could come.
Truth to tell I needed time to sort out the implications of taking part in this reunion.
Long after I had put down the phone, I sat on my bed manicuring my nails and thinking about those days long gone by. How I had envied the girls as I sat on my side of the classroom wishing with all my heart and soul that I could be on the left hand side of the classroom. How I would like to have joined in their huddled conversations from which the boys were excluded.
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