I hadn't even committed to going until Thursday.
And THEN I only said yes because Terrance had booked a room at the Inn at the Long Trail.
The dance between us started months ago. Terrance read - aloud - that my 20th high school reunion was announced in the local Vermont paper. I pretended not to hear him.
"Do you want to go?", he inquired from the doorway.
"Mmmmhmmmm", I cryptically replied. This was followed by my hunching down and doing my best "flounder in the sand" impression.
A few weeks later, he tried again.
"Do you want to? Your reunion? You want to go?"
Oh, my wily spouse. He is wise in my avoidance ways.
He is also wise in the knowledge that my bravado is often just that. Bravado. I talk an excellent game and can also follow through with said game if pushed....but would usually prefer not to. I, like Bartelby the Scribner, would simply prefer not to.
I like to think that I could kick the door in to dulcet strains of "The Final Countdown" and do a dance in the middle of the party, pointing at various people and yelling "I RULE!"....but I wouldn't.
In fact, as late as Friday night I was hedging my bets.
"We don't Have to go if you are too tired - or don't really want to make the drive...", I offered over dinner. "I mean - I am not even sure if anyone I know will be there...and I haven't paid for the tickets yet, so really there is no pressing need..."
He was not swayed. "I think you should go - it only happens once, Dawn. A 20 year reunion."
This is how I found myself bundled into the car on Saturday morning, being driven to Vermont. 20 years of my fears and insecurities looming on the horizon. Stepping back into the skin of the 18 year old Dawn to face her peers.