Thursday, July 14, 2011
Hello, My Name is Desembarazarme, Class of XXXX
I'm not going to my high school reunion for a variety of reasons including, but not limited to:
1. I don't feel up to explaining, "Um, yeah, I did actually go to school with you. I sat next to you in chemistry for a whole semester? No? Uh...I have my diploma someplace. I can prove I was there. Are you listening?"
2. I don't feel up to exclaimining, "Thanks for saying I look great! It's amazing what XX years, a good hair straightener, some self-confidence, and being away from a school full of ass clowns will do for you!"
3. I don't feel up to squinting at 129 iPhone photos of a weird-looking baby and saying, "Aww, she looks just as Winston Churchillesque as every other baby I don't care about!"
4. I don't feel up to hiding behind decorative Doric columns in order to avoid the dude who asked me to the homecoming dance as a joke.
5. And of course, I don't feel up to saying, "I'm doing so well! Since you last saw me at our conservative suburban high school, I've become an Abortioneer! That's right; I work at an abortion clinic! Here's my card*--call me if you have a malfunction!" I mean, I would actually love to say that, but it's not likely that I would.
I never even actually entertained the possibility of going to the reunion, but as I considered the what ifs, I started to imagine a former classmate asking what I do, and answering, "I love my job. I'm fortunate enough to be able to support and care for women of all sorts of backgrounds, to advocate politically, to interpret for and stand up for the immigrant population, to find out all sorts of medical things first-hand, to work with people who really care about their jobs and their co-workers, to counsel clients as I learn about myself, to have a hand in public health studies, to lead and learn, and to empower thousands of women." At that point, I would pause for a sip of my water (In my daydream, I don't need alcohol to be able to talk to those people.), and my former classmate would scratch her leg with the toe of her Louboutin and reply, "That sounds so wonderful! Where do you work?" And I would say, "[Abortion Clinic Name]." And then her head would metaphorically explode because I just made abortion work sound exactly as innocuous and excellent as it really is.
But no, I'm not going to my high school reunion. And anyway, I have to work that weekend, and I wouldn't miss that for the world.
* I don't have a card. But oh, if I did...