When the reunion invitation arrived in the mail, I left it sitting on my kitchen counter for nearly two weeks.
Every few days, I’d pick it up, glance at the gold lettering, and set it right back down again.
At 72, I wasn’t sure I saw the point of reunions anymore.
The people who had mattered most had either drifted away, moved on, or passed on. Besides, 50 years is a long time. Long enough for old memories to lose their sharp edges and become little more than stories you tell yourself.
Still, something about that envelope kept catching my attention.
Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was nostalgia. Or maybe it was a question I’d never completely stopped carrying, no matter how many years passed.