Alan Magill is a playwright, poet, short story writer, humorist, and columnist. Some of his writing has been used as a springboard to discuss effective means of relating to people with dementia and Alzheimer’s Disease.
Alan Magill will be a guest writer on my blog: WRITE ON
About nine years ago, I took a writing class taught by Jack Engelhard-He is a writer, known for Indecent Proposal (1993), Indecent Proposal (2007), and My Father, Joe (2010).
HE’S THEREBY- ALAN MAGILL
Anyway, I friended Jack Engelhard on Facebook, and I looked on his list of friends, and I noticed the name of Alan Magill and looked at his description, and he seemed to be an interesting person, and I sent him a friend’s request. And he accepted after asking how I knew about him. And I told him about taking the writing class with his friend Jack Engelhard. Alan asked if I liked to exchange stories based on word prompts, and I agree to do that. It seemed like an interesting activity. Since I love to write, we did this for years and became friends, although we have never met in person. I feel as if I know him well.
Highschool Reunion- picture by Pixabay
Totally out of place. That’s how Robert felt, ginger ale in hand, as he listed to Jerry, working on his third gin and tonic, regale the crowd about his cross-country hitch-hiking escapade, the summer after college. Laugh after laugh after laugh from people who had ignored him back in high school and were still ignoring him at this 25-year Sanquan Valley High School reunion.
There was Audrey, who had been class president, still surrounded by about 15 of her pack. And Bobby, the star fullback, as always surrounded by the pretty ladies. The only thing Robert was surrounded by was his own misery, made worse when Barry roared by him and knocked over his glass of ginger ale. A soggy “I’m sorry” was followed by him filling in some of the details that a nearly inebriated Jerry had left out about how Joan had picked him up in Omaha, and by the time they got to Frisco they were engaged.
Nobody cared that Robert had carved out a respectable career as a CPA. Nobody cared that he probably made more money than half the people in that room. And no one cared more than Robert himself as we all alone in the world, and the socialization he had eschewed in High School had left him as full of life as a number on a ledger sheet.
Jerry wasn’t finished…not nearly. He picked Joan up in the air and said, “I’ll always look up to you.”
Seeing all of the couples looking into each other’s eyes was enough for Robert. How long could you nurse a ginger ale? He put his drink down on a tray and realized that no one had noticed him come in, and no one would notice him leave.
Out the door, the surprisingly cool May night air mocked his need for any kind of warmth. He found his Lexus, got in, and started the engine. It didn’t engage. He tried it again. Nothing. Was he meant to have the absolute worst night of his life? He would call his service station that stayed open until 9. No bars on his cell phone. That’s right. He had been in such a rush to get to this big social event of the year, that he had forgotten to charge it.
His mechanic’s shop was a mile up the road. He could walk it….Yeah, that’s what he was going to do. Then he saw them. Two happily together, couples walking right toward him on their way to the reunion entrance. He recognized two of them from 11th-grade science class.
They walked by him like he wasn’t there.
“I am here,” he thought to himself. “I am here.” And then he shouted, “I am here!” looking at nobody. Stunned by his outburst, he knew what he had to do.
He walked up to the road and put his thumb out. Never had done anything remotely similar to this in his life. I had never picked up a hitchhiker. Never had been one.
But nothing would stop him from being one now.
Car after car after car just passed him by, like he wasn’t there.
He kept his thumb out.
Ten minutes later, there was a broken-down car up ahead, so traffic inched forward to go around it. To his utter shock, a car seemed to move over, and the driver was waving for him to get in. Robert opened the door and was stunned when the lady behind the wheel said his name.
He looked over to her, and he immediately recognized her. It was Shelly Radner. THE Shelly Radner. “Peter, how are you,” she asked.
“I’m fine, Shelly,” he said.
“Where are you going?”
“My car broke down, and I’m going to my service station up the road. Louie’s.”
“Oh yeah,” she said.
“My phone is out of power.”
“I’m glad that I could help you.”
At that moment, Peter thought of all the times that Shelly, one year younger than him, had helped him in the school library to find a book, to look up an article. She was the only one he really talked within school. Over time, he developed a crush on her, but nothing ever developed.
Peter started to shake. “Oh, you’re chilled,” she said. “Cold, for May.”
“Yes.”
“There’s a coffee shop right before the service station. Would you like to go in for a cup?”
“That would be nice,” he said.
What was even nicer, was a year later, Robert and Shelly got married.
Robert never hitchhiked again. And he never thought that he wasn’t there again.
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