Bad Sex & Good Scotch: A Reunion Story

Chapter 22 - Epilogue

It was early the next morning and the sky was an enigmatic gray that would eventually yield to rain or sunshine, but gave no indication of its intentions. I threw my distressed leather overnight bag into the trunk of my metallic blue Jetta while most of my fellow alumnae slept, and a few masochists jogged down concrete paths, pained but determined. 

There was still a full day left of reunion. More mingling with name-tagged classmates, more panel discussions with alumnae and faculty. And in conclusion, a parade, with each class marching behind a banner with its graduation year printed in blue-and-gold lettering.

But I had decided to leave. And I knew I wouldn’t be missed.

As I slid into the driver’s seat, I looked up at Brooks Dorm for what I assumed would be the last time. I was a little hungover, my mouth dry and a dull throb in my head. I would have to stop for coffee on the way home.

The gravel crunched under my wheels as I backed out of my parking spot. I threw the car in drive and headed out. It was hard to grasp that I’d be home in two-and-a-half hours. It felt so far away.

I tried to figure out what the previous night had meant, if anything. In the moment, as a vanquished Carrie lay next to me — sweaty and breathless — it felt like a turning point, like I had exorcised the demons of my past, like I had set things right. 

But already I understood, as my car cut through a delicate mist in the pallid light of morning, that this would change nothing. I was long past my prime, on the downhill slide to fifty. The promising future that had, at Ellison, seemed all but inevitable had slowly faded into nothingness, my creative impulses deadened by pragmatic concerns with saving for my kids’ college tuitions and funding my retirement.

I would return home to a life that was good, but would never become exceptional. A life where I consistently came in second. I had mastered the art of losing gracefully, of congratulating the victor, as everyone told me that next time it would be different, that my day would come. And while I never stopped trying, it had become clear that I would never push the boulder to the top of the mountain. I had gone as far as I would go.

But last night, after twenty-five years of living with sexual insecurity, I had rocked Carrie’s world. 

It was an unambiguous win. 

And, God damn it, I’d take it.

                                                                        THE END