Just a Reunion - 2

Jordan’s Story

Jordan Cable held on tightly to the stair railing as he made his way down the steps to the tarmac below. The small commuter plane had parked as closely to the terminal as it could. Jordan’s crippled leg made descending the stairs an effort. He had waited and let the other passengers exit first because he knew he would only slow them down.

“Thank you for flying the Eagle, sir,” the flight attendant said cordially as she helped Jordan step down from the final step.

“Thank you, young lady,” Jordan said. He remembered a time when a young lady like her would look at him in anticipation rather than with pity in her eyes. Jordan used his walking cane to go the last fifty yards to the terminal. The going was much easier now that he was on level ground.

After claiming his luggage, Jordan sat patiently waiting on the hotel shuttle to arrive. He reached in his pocket and took out a folded piece of paper. And for the umpteenth time, he read over the agenda for his forty-fifth high school reunion.

Forty-five years had passed as if it had been twenty. This was his first reunion, his first time back in his hometown since shortly after he had graduated.

Jordan had been in love with Wanda Southwood and they had planned sharing a future together. Wanda had a scholarship for college plus her parents had planned financially for her education. Jordan’s parents wouldn’t be helping him attend college, and the scholarship he had hoped for never developed. Jordan refolded the paper neatly and put it back into his pocket.

Wanda had been the prettiest girl in school, at least in his eyes. The fact was, he seldom looked at the other girls. Although he had been popular, once he had begun dating Wanda, no other girl mattered. He rubbed his aching leg, the one that always hurt, but more so when he sat for long periods without exercise.

Jordan now lived in California, Palo Alto, in fact. He had woken early and flown all day to make it back to the East Texas woodlands. He had flown over the green forest as they approached the airfield and the green carpet of trees welcomed him home. He was tired now and hurt from inactivity, but he also felt an unexpected anticipation.

The hotel shuttle arrived and the driver took Jordan’s bag and loaded it in the back of the van before giving him a hand. He settled in and buckled his seatbelt as the van pulled away from the terminal and headed west, following the sun. The eight mile drive gave him time to relive his last days at home.

Wanda had had a future and Jordan didn’t want to hold her back. Her mother had been pressing her to break up with him and concentrate on her future. Jordan had decided that it would be best if they broke up and went their separate ways. They had discussed how their relationship would continue; only they would have freedom to grow. And, it was best. They were both too young. Giving up their dreams would damage any relationship they had in the future.

That had been the sensible thing to do, the right thing, the hardest thing he had ever done. He sacrificed his happiness with the only girl he had ever loved, the only girl he would ever love, in order to do what was right. Jordan closed his eyes and blocked the pain he still felt from that day.

The driver pulled under the canopy and came to a stop. He was young and moved like an athlete. Jordon used to move that way, but that was before, before the explosion.

Jordan had stayed out of sight, avoiding seeing Wanda after their breakup, for he knew if he ever saw her, if he was ever close enough to touch her pretty hair, he would beg her to run away and get married. He had moped around his house and his father, an oil field roughneck, finally had his fill and told Jordan to get over it.

“Men don’t get their hearts broken,” Jordan’s dad had said. “That is for the women. Grow up and get over it.” Grow up; that was his father’s answer to everything.

“Here you go, son,” Jordan said to the young man and handed him a ten dollar bill. Jordan had worked at odd jobs, often just for tips, and always made sure to tip service personnel well. After checking into the hotel, Jordan settled into his room. He had three hours to kill until six-thirty. He decided to soak in the bathtub as soon as he took his medicine.

The warm water felt good on Jordan’s leg. The scars still reminded him of the surgeries he had undergone, three all together, not including the work the medics had done on him in the field hospital.

After leaving home, his parents and the memory of Wanda behind, Jordan had volunteered to go into the Army. Within eighteen months, he had been shipped off to Viet Nam to fight a war he didn’t understand, but would keep him away from his desires. He had served almost ten months when one day, one miserable rainy monsoon day, his squad came upon a booby trap and boom, three men were dead and four wounded. Shrapnel had sliced into Jordan’s leg and by all rights, he should have lost it.

Jordan wiped tears from his eyes as he remembered that fateful day. Medics had saved his leg and transported him to the field hospital. In any earlier war he would be dead, but advanced medical procedures had saved Jordan, but saved him for what. The bath water had cooled, so he opened the drain and worked to get out of the tub.

Some people say that you can find blessings hidden in tragedy. It was hard at first for Jordan to encompass that idea, but as he rehabbed, he attended the university. The Army had sent Jordan to California for more surgery and rehabilitation. He liked the climate and the nearby ocean. With the military paying for his education, Jordan graduated from the university with a degree in mathematics. Eventually, he had obtained a masters degree and then his doctorate. After ten years of hard work and a great deal of good fortune, he had found a new life.

Jordan and his family remained in contact, however, they never came to California and he never ventured back home. He had a new life, a new dream and a new identity. Dr. Jordan Cable was now free of any restraints in life.

At a little after six, the shuttle driver came to pick Jordan up and carry him to the reunion hall. One of the benefits of tipping well is the quick service you get in return. The drive was short but gave him time to note the many changes in the sleepy old town where he had been born. The community that he had written off as a lost cause had found new energy and was coming back to life.

The driver helped Jordan exit the van and made sure the crippled man made it safely to the front door. As he approached, Jordan saw the joyous faces of his old classmates. When he took his nametag and placed it on his ten year old suit jacket, his nerves began to attack him. He should never have come back. This is not what he wanted. All of these people, they were reuniting, still making plans for a future. Jordan had come to bury his past for a final time.

There was a lady at the service table who he remembered, but not her name. She had always been around where he and Wanda were. Oh, what was her name? Patty, Penny, Polly... yes, Polly Meads. He smiled at the recollection just as she must have realized who he was.

“Are you Jordan Cable?” Polly asked. She could have checked his nametag but she didn’t seem to think of that.

“Yes, and you are Polly Meads,” Jordan replied. “Your nametag seems to have fallen off.” Polly gave a silly laugh and waved at him as if she were amused.

“Oh, everybody knows me,” Polly said, “I don’t need a nametag.” Again, there was that irritating laugh. People could always recognize her from her laugh. “Go on over to the serving line and get something to eat. We have punch or water on the other table. Sorry, the punch isn’t spiked.” She began that laugh again and Jordan turned, attempting to hurry away as he glanced around for Wanda. Surely she would attend the reunion.

As Jordan picked up a cup of punch, he recognized some men who he had played football with and admired in school. They had been good friends and he had a flash of interest in seeing them again. He made his way over and joined the group.

“Why, Jordan, it is so good to see you,” one of the men said. They began asking questions that Jordan wasn’t interested in answering.

“Are you married, Jordan?” another asked.

“No, but I was for a short time; she couldn’t tolerate my idiosyncrasies,” Jordan answered. A trio of commiserating moans went around the group.

“What line of work did you go into?” the next man asked.

“I taught school for a while,” Jordan answered. He had been an associate professor at Stanford for the last half of his carrier, but he wasn’t here to compare his manhood with the others. The questions dissipated as the men returned to one-upping each other. Jordan listened briefly and then lost interest.

This had been a mistake. He no longer belonged here, in this place and with these people. What did he ever think he could gain from attending this reunion? He thought and the answer was quick in coming. He came for some form of resolution. No more running or longing for what he had left behind, this was his chance to end it.

Jordan smiled and eased away from his old buddies. He had accomplished what he was here for. The world he once knew was long past and it could not be resurrected. There was no corpse and no need for a funeral. He placed his empty cup in the trash receptacle and turned toward the door.

When he looked up, Jordan was looking into the face of a woman he recognized immediately, he was staring directly into the sparkling blue eyes of Wanda Southwood.

“Hello, Jordan,” the lady said. She was lovely as ever in spite of time. Her smile was gracious and her eyes welcoming.

“Hello, Wanda, how are you?” After forty-five years, all Jordan could think to say was a faint trite expression.

“I was hoping to see you here,” Wanda said softly. She stepped closer, meeting his step forward, and wondering whatever had possessed her to give credence to Polly’s spiteful assumption that this still handsome man had lost his way to the hippie culture.

“Wanda, I’m sorry... I’ve always been sorry,” he said. He wanted to hold her in his arms as he had when they were just young kids and kiss her sweet lips. The sultry sounds she made as they kissed still haunted his memory.

“Were you leaving?” Wanda asked. “It looked as if you were ready to bolt out the door.” She gave a little laugh that warmed his heart.

“I don’t know any of these old people,” Jordan quipped with a smile. “I feel much younger than these people look. Except for you, you are as beautiful as always.” He finally managed to reach out and touch her arm. He had to touch her and make sure she was real and not just another of his dreams.

“Oh, Jordan, I’ve changed, we’ve all changed,” Wanda said, “but I know what you mean. I am a stranger here as well.” She covered his hand with hers and Jordan felt the old glow of romance spring to life.

“Could we find a place to sit and talk?” Jordan asked, “There are so many things I would like to know. Not that I want to pry into your private life, but I still think of you, sometime.” Sometime, like every day and every night.

“Of course, how thoughtless of me,” Wanda said, “I bet you need to sit. Standing is hard on...”

“My leg is all right, Wanda, and you don’t need to avoid saying the word,” Jordan said with a grin. “I know I’m crippled. A doctor was kind enough to tell me years ago.” His gentle laugh put Wanda at ease and she turned slowly, taking his surprisingly familiar outstretched hand as the years melted away and he led her to an empty table.

Suddenly, it was no longer just a reunion.

* * *

story to be continued in next posting