LHS Class of 01 Reunion '21

“I imagined you two still together, or at least that there’d be tension. Seeing you here, both of you, just… being civil, changes that picture.” He glanced at the wall where a banner read “Class of ’01 – 20 Years Later,” the bold letters emphasizing how far they’d all traveled from the cramped hallways of their high school. “If you’re both fine, then maybe the past isn’t something we need to cling to. Maybe it’s just… a chapter we can read

and then put it back on the shelf.”

Francis chuckled, a short, breathy sound that seemed to travel through the mask and into the space between them. “You know, I thought I’d be the one holding a mask that hid my face, not my emotions,” he said, a faint smile playing on the corner of his mouth. “Valerie and I have been through more paperwork than I’d like to admit—divorce filings, custody agreements, and now the simple act of showing up at a reunion without causing a scene.” He tapped his mask lightly, as if to emphasize the absurdity of the situation. “We’re not the same people we were back then, but we’re still… us, in a way that works. Ten years is a long time to learn how to be friends when you once were lovers, and I think we’ve earned that right to be at peace, even if we’re both wearing masks that hide more than just our faces.”

Valerie nodded, her eyes bright behind the protective shield. “Marc, it’s okay to feel a little uneasy. The world’s changed, the rules have changed, and so have we,” she said, her tone warm and inviting. “When I see you, I remember the way we used to prank the teachers together, the way we’d all huddle in the cafeteria after school. It’s funny that those memories feel both distant and immediate, especially now that we’re all wearing something that literally separates us from each other.” She pressed the glass of punch a little harder against the side of the table, sending a thin ripple across the surface. “I hope you can see that we’re not trying to rewrite any old narratives—just living our lives, one regulated gathering at a time.”

Marc’s mind drifted back to the hallway lockers, the smell of stale gym socks, and the nervous excitement of graduating. He realized that the mask, while a symbol of current restrictions, also acted as a metaphor for the facades people carried for years—pretending everything was fine when, in reality, it was anything but. “Maybe the mask is a reminder that we’re all vulnerable right now,” he mused, his voice a little softer than before. “It forces us to look past the surface, to actually listen. I’m glad you both are here, not because of the drama I imagined, but because it proves that people can evolve, even when forced into close quarters by circumstances beyond their control.” He smiled, feeling the rubber strap tug again, this time more out of habit than discomfort.

As the evening wore on, the DJ switched to a nostalgic mashup of songs that had once been the soundtrack to their teenage years. The crowd began to sway, some laughing, some quietly reminiscing, all of them united under the same fluorescent lights and the same mandated protective gear. Francis raised a glass of sparkling water and gestured toward the center of the room, where the alumni had set up a makeshift photo booth. “Let’s take a picture,” he announced, “all of us, masks and all, because someday we’ll look back and wonder why we ever worried about a piece of fabric.” The group laughed, a chorus of muffled chuckles that seemed to echo through the gym’s vaulted ceiling. Marc stepped forward, feeling a surge of camaraderie that was as unexpected as it was comforting.

When the photo was finally taken, the flash caught the reflective surfaces of the masks, creating an odd, almost surreal tableau of familiar faces obscured by modern necessity. In the printed image, the smiles were invisible, but the eyes—bright, alive, and unmasked—conveyed an unmistakable connection. Marc looked at the picture later, holding it in his hands as if it were a relic from a different era. He thought about the conversation he’d had with Francis and Valerie, about the assurances that “things between them are fine” after a decade of awkwardness, and about the strange comfort that came from seeing old friends navigate new realities together. In the end, the masks didn’t just hide; they reminded him that underneath the layers of time, regulation, and expectation, the core of their friendship remained—and that was something worth preserving, even in the most regulated of reunions.