some triggers and how I used them:

1. the reunion

2. “there is nothing like it in all the wide world.”

3. dogs in tutus

4. Sara Louise Throckmorton had never believed in ghosts

5. added; thank you for the active week

There’s nothing like a 50th reunion from high school in the whole wide
world, and I had just coaxed Liz, my twin, to “Let’s go back and be
the Bradley Twins once more,” and we were to somehow hook up and fly
into Logan Airport in Boston, traverse the sub ways and get to
Roslindale, Massachusetts where we hung out when the earth was young.

I was going to entertain her of stories of John’s snapping turtle who
was odious and who spent days in the butler’s pantry propped up
against a silver tray admiring himself. Throckmorton P. Jr. finally
got thrown back in the pond or water in Dedham or Norwood, reunited
with his sister Sara Louise Throckmorton, and I thought good riddance.

Around that time we had a pug and a boxer and we kept dressing these
dogs up in tutus and lying on the floor watching them edge their
bodies against furniture, anything to get those damned things off; we
lay there a silent laughter systollically(sp) going up to the high
ceilings, and our ribs going up and down like out of control bellows.

But you know on a scale of 1-10, these remembrances would be a two,
except that Roslindale High had been an abandoned building, until a
convalescent home had taken it over and made it into a shiny place for
elders. They had remodeled the stage and theatre too, where i got up
to help the magic man and told the audience his tricks, and he snarled
at me under his breath.

So the Committee for the 50th decided to hold the reunion in the rest
home’s newly redone auditorium, and when I looked at who was coming (7
people) I called Liz and said, “Forget it.”

So we had our own reunion; strange I would call sitting by her bed as
she’s passing through to the next worlds of God a reunion, but hey you
gotta grab language and happenings were they are.

We had a principal named Mr. Gately who parted his hair down the
middle and looked like Al Capone’s jailer; did Al Capone have a
jailer? Catch my drift. Then there was Miss Keough, the Guidance
Counselor, who had been in the WACS, women’s armed services group of
World War II. I swear you could have put a studded collar around her
neck and called her Bubbita.

I would be on the third floor in a classroom, when the phone would
ring. The teacher would answer it, mumble yes, and then hang up the
wall phone, look at me, and say “Bradley,” go to the principal’s office.

I would walk down three lonely long flights hearing silence banging
within my head and then finally approach the linoleum floored first
floor: long, empty, except for Mr. Gately and Miss Keough.

The gist of it was three times that year, they did this, looked at me
with loathing and said, “Get out. Don’t come back until you bring
your father.” I head over to the local hangout and light up a
cigarette. I was 15. I’d think, “Why do I always do this,” But
meditation and knowledge of my inner landscape didn’t even hit a
shallow level. I never told my father, so Gately would call on a
Sunday night.

I grew out of it; shame, fear of not graduating, summer school where i
learned how to spell (sasparilla) – sar sap a rilla were my 50s
catalyst to settling down.

Did I mention my son “never attached to high school,” my euphemism,
and that a guy I dated asked “What’s the difference between precocious
and a brat,” Without a minute’s hesitation I answered a mother’s
point of view.

But I tell you I am here today and I want to thank the prompter and
the people who write for this group. In my life settling up my twin’s
house after her passing and on the screen, it’s been a very active
week, and for that I am grateful. Life goes on.

My sister, by the way, was known as “the good twin.”

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