Those 70ish Girls

Pt. 3 Life’s a Trip by Valerie Halla

When I drove to LA, my plan for the third part was to visit my High School friends in Orange County which is further south in Mission Viejo and San Juan Capistrano. More driving on my agenda but it was worth it. “Old friends improve with age.” Uh, no that’s not the right saying. “Old friends are good at any age?”

Wine improves with age or is it “Good wine is good with any friends who age with enough good wine?” I think that’s it.

Anyhow, I got the GPS warmed up in my car, after making a reservation at a hotel, and headed out to meet my good friend of 60 years that I had met in junior high. It’s incredible that I made it without getting lost with thousands of freeway signs, traffic , and exits and driving past all the Disneyland turnoffs and attractions I had recognized from my teen years living there. Driving the Southern California freeways is kind of like the rides at Disneyland, exciting and interesting and imaginative while at the same time as unreal as Peter Pan, Snow White or Cruella de Ville

I got to the hotel and my high school friend, Pam, picked me and my dog up to go for dinner – which we had arranged with our other old high school friend, Jerry, and his wife, Pam. My friend, also a Pam, came and we hugged and chatted for a while then left for the restaurant. We ordered Cadillac margaritas while we waited. Pam said drinking alcohol makes you relax more when you’re socializing especially with some high school friend you had not seen in 50 years. After waiting for about 15 minutes, in walks Jerry with his wife. They were obviously in their 70’s walking bent over, stiff and wobbly. Jerry looked like his handsome self except with more gray, as I had remembered him being a close friend with my deceased husband, Ken. In fact Ken had been best man for Jerry at his second marriage at which I had attended. The wedding had been on a small yacht in the harbor at Newport Beach, so we as young newlyweds felt privileged to be there. Ken wore this cream colored tux with ruffles on the peach colored shirt. That by itself was shocking to me because Ken – the ex hippie – disliked dressing up like that but he did it for his buddy, Jerry.

We hugged Jerry and Pam as my friend met Jerry and wife since she didn’t really recall much about Jerry at our huge high school. We had about 300 in our graduating class in the late 1960’s. It took a while for Pam to warm up to Jerry. He mentioned that maybe she knew his first wife from high school, also a Pam. This was getting more interesting every moment. We talked about Ken’s passing and how much Ken and Jerry were alike: both were quiet, did not like crowds nor people and rebellious, also super good looking, which I noted.

His wife mentioned their two grandsons and their divorced daughter living with them. They were busy with responsibilities and the graduation party and the ceremony that week for their oldest grandson. Pictures were shared. The contrast with high school now compared with our high school years was apparent.

All the old days came swooping over us as we talked and ordered our dinners. The years since the Vietnam War, Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young, The Beach Boys and hanging out on Huntington, Balboa, and Redondo Beaches. Our yearbook which no one could find now, packed away in some cardboard box to be forgotten. The years melted away like the ice cubes in our margaritas. We connected. We joined our teen years again and lamented losing classmate and pal, Ken.

All in all it had been a sweet reunion. Later Jerry texted that he had a tough time holding it together and that he had cried later. He had lost a good friend, his best friend in high school. We swore we would get together again and search for the old high school yearbook from 1967, but would we try, would it matter? Maybe it would matter to a few of us old folks.

Maybe I’ll go buy a bottle of wine to see if I can find the memories, the good friends, and the good times in the bottle, with each glass, each aging sip, each memory.