It Was City Lights, By the Way

Some folks have signed my guestbook over at Classmates.com.

Classmates.com, in a brilliant stroke of business model, will not tell me who unless I pay them.

Now, I'm quite tempted to see who from my halcyon days has resurfaced to say hi. An old friend? One of the two other kids who were in my trig class? Possibly one of the art club weenies I hung out with because they were the only ones who were as well-versed in Kubrick films as I was.

It might even be the girl who asked me out to see a Chaplin movie and I politely declined for time constraint reasons. Yes, ten-plus years later and I'm still kicking myself over that one. We've written, briefly. She's a model living in New York City these days.

It could be anybody, really. And I'd rather live with the mystery rather than plunk my credit card down only to find out that Corky McFiddletwich finally Googled my name after remembering we sat next to each other in fourth grade penmanship class. For all the folks I remember from my youth, there are a few I'd rather forget and many more, I'm sure, that I'm delighted to have long ago let slip away like dandelion fluff in the wind. For a bunch of reasons, I'm willing to let bygones be bygones. I quite consciously decided to skip my tenth year reunion — and with good cause! What a difference eleven years makes instead of ten. I'm a different person now, though I'm sure that were I to have the chance to go this year instead, I'd still decline.

But it wouldn't be for a bunch of reasons. It would still just be for one.