Loose Ends

By Bill Bernico

I scanned the invitation looking for familiar names. I found a few that jogged my memory but most of them were strangers to me after thirty years. I turned to Kathie and held the invitation up for her to see.

“Looks like I'll know a couple of people at the class reunion anyway,” I said. “Says here that they expect a hundred couples to attend. If my math is correct, that's about two hundred people, give or take a widow or divorcee.”

Kathie kept wiping the kitchen counter top, briefly glancing at the invitation. “I thought you didn't even like most of the people in your class,” she said. “Why would you want to go to that in the first place?”

I shuffled through a small stack of papers I had beneath the invitation and plucked the top one off the kitchen island counter. “This,” I said almost proudly. “Wonderful invention, the Internet. I can look up almost anything or anybody and all from the privacy and comfort of my office computer.”

“So what,” Kathie said. “So you can look stuff up. What does that have to do with the reunion?”

I shook the page at her. “Don't you get it? I know everyone's background. I know where they work, what they do, what they've accomplished or haven't. I can even access anyone's court record. Divorces, tickets, sentences, fines, it's all right there on the screen for the taking. None of ‘em will be able to bullshit me this time around. If any of ‘em had any smarts they'd do the same, only if they look me up, they'll see that I've authored a dozen books and composed more than a hundred songs. In short, they'll see that I've made something of myself.”

“And that's important to you, is it?” Kathie said.

“Important? You remember all the stories I told you about my years in school—always being the new kid and always being picked on? I was always the last one picked when they chose up sides for any sports, even though I knew I was better than most of them. We'll finally see who's who and what's what, won't we?”

“We?” Kathie said. “I don't have anything to prove to these people. And you shouldn't, either. They were kids back then—foolish immature kids who didn't know any better than to exclude other kids or taunt them or make them feel small. You're in your fifties now and should know better.”

I shook my head and pursed my lips. “You don't get it, do you? Ever hear the phrase ‘loose ends?' Well I've got a few loose ends I need to tie up before I can let it rest.”

“Let what rest?” Kathie said.

My eyebrows reached for the ceiling as I cocked my head. “This nagging feeling that's been bustin' to get out now for thirty years. It's a little hard to explain, but it's just something I need to do for my own peace of mind.”

Kathie stopped wiping the countertop and sat next to me. “And just what do you plan to do when you see these people who made your life miserable? You gonna stick your tongue out and yell nyah, nyah, nyah? You gonna beat em up or start a baseball game and not pick any of ‘em to be on your team? Maybe you could ask them all to the prom and then stand ‘em all up.

“Go on,” I said. “Have your fun. We'll see who gets the last laugh.”

Kathie sighed. “And just what's that supposed to mean? Am I going to embarrassed to be seen with you?”

“If anyone's going to be embarrassed, it'll be these clowns,” I said. “Don't sweat it. It's just a little harmless fun. You know, payback time.”

“For what?”

“What? You want examples? Okay, well, let's see.” I shuffled through the stack of printouts before me and pulled one from the middle of the pile. “Here's a good candidate, Floyd Barns. He was a little shithead that always thought he was better than anyone else. I remember he had these black shiny Beatle boots when they first came out and all I had was a pair of Hush Puppies that my ma got at the Salvation Army store. Floyd used to strut around the halls with his Beatle boots and his hair combed down over his forehead. He had these skin-tight black pants and a collarless jacket and he'd use some phony English accent when he'd talk to you. When no one was looking he'd always step on my shoes. Granted, they weren't blue suede, but still.”

Kathie looked sideways at me. “And what's a suitable punishment for such a crime? You gonna take him aside and step on his shoes?”

I pursed my lips and nodded. “Not a bad idea. We'll see how it goes.”

“All right,” Kathie said. “Who else done you wrong?”

I locked my fingers behind my head and leaned back in my chair. “Let's see,” I said. I straightened up in my chair and looked down at the reunion list again. I ran my finger down the list and stopped on another name. “Here we are. Carla Ross.” I pointed my finger in Kathie's face. “You wanna know what she did to me?”

Kathie said nothing.

“I'll tell you what she did,” I said. “I asked her to the seventh grade dance and she said yes. But a week later she got another invitation from Vern Klemment and she accepted. She didn't even have the decency to tell me. I had to find out when I went to her house to pick her up and her mother had to tell me that she'd already left with Vern. You can imagine how stupid I felt at that moment.”

“That was terrible,” Kathie agreed. “But keep in mind you were twelve, maybe thirteen back then. Kids can be cruel without realizing it.”

I gave Kathie a frown.

“Don't get me wrong,” she said. “I'm not defending her or what she did, but come on, that was nearly forty years ago. What can you do to her now?”

“I guess I can't very well ask her to a dance and then stand her up, now can I?” I said. “We'll just have to come up with some other suitable punishment for Carla.”

I ran my finger down the list again. “Ha!” I said. “This is one revenge I'm really going to look forward to—Lee Geistman. That little shit.”

“Okay,” Kathie said halfheartedly, “What did Lee do to you?”

“Lee, if you must know, sat next to me in Social Studies class and always waited until the teacher wasn't looking and then he'd sock me in the arm.”

“And you're still alive to tell about it,” Kathie said smirking.

I rubbed my triceps. “You think it doe hurt? Let me punch you in the arm and we'll see if it hurts.”

“Yeah,” Kathie said sarcastically. “That would be the adult thing to do. Was this Lee character a big bully?”

“Well,” I said, “He was kind of a bully but not real big. I guess you could say he was a shrimp, a late bloomer, if you will. I'll just bet I could take him today.”

“What a proud moment that would be for you,” Kathie said. “Is that about it for your hit list?” Kathie said, resuming her kitchen duties.

I looked over the list again and found one more cruel person who needed a dose of manners—John Starrett.

“Ah ha,” I said, poking my finger on John's name. “This is the one I'm really looking forward to—John Starrett. Ooh, I can't wait to see him at the reunion.”

“Okay,” Kathie said. “I'll bite. What did John Starrett do to traumatize you?”

I shook my finger at Kathie. She scowled at me and I lowered it, placing my hands in my lap.

“John was one of those ‘only child' kids. You know the type. Spoiled rotten and gets everything he wants without having to work for it. Well, while the rest of us scraped by with a thirty or forty-dollar cheap guitar, John got a Fender Stratocaster and fancy amp right off the bat. His folks got him lessons with the music studio in town and he joined thee band that anyone who was anyone was in.”

“Was it his fault that his parents had money?” Kathie said. “How was that being cruel to you?”

I got up off the kitchen stool and paced around the island. “It wasn't just the band thing. After school he'd chase me down the alley with some of his henchmen close behind. I never got good at fighting but I sure got good at running.”

“Did he ever catch you?” Kathie said.

“Sure, plenty of times. And he let me have it good, too. Why, I don't know. I never figured that one out. He was just plain mean for the sake of being mean.”

“Well,” Kathie said, “If you're going to make a jackass of yourself, count me out. I have to live in this town, too you know.”

I put my arm around Kathie's shoulder and drew her near. “Not to worry. There won't be any public scenes or anything to embarrass you. I just want to get them alone, rub their failures in their faces and close that chapter of my life. You know, loose ends. Closure, if you will.”

Kathie looked sideways at me. I could see she had her doubts about this whole thing.

“Come on,” I said. “Be a sport and let me get my revenge and then we can get on with our lives. I know mine will be better for it.”

A week passed and on a Friday night in July Kathie and I dressed to the teeth and drove to the supper club where the class reunion was being held. I parked a block away where I could watch the guests arriving in front of the supper club. When I thought there were enough people out front, I started the rented Mercedes and drove to the front of the building. I made sure everyone saw us arrive before I parked the car in the lot alongside the club.

Kathie and I strolled in the front door like we owned the place. I took her coat and hung it on the rack with mine. She took my arm and I led her into the lobby where several tables were set up. Three women were seated behind the tables and it was their job to pass out the nametags.

Kathie and I got our tags and positioned them high up on our clothes where they could be seen easily. Kathie followed behind me as we squeezed through the crowd toward the bar.

Beyond the bar was a ballroom with a small stage where I could see band equipment set up. I knew the leader of this band and I'd arranged to sit in on a few numbers. That ought to put John Starrett in his place.

The band started into its first number as I ordered drinks for Kathie and me. We sipped at them as we watched the people around us mingling. This was my thirty-fifth anniversary class reunion and everyone here was in their early fifties. What were once slim trim physiques were now just a collection of potbellies and thunder thighs. The once hairy heads that bounced around the gymnasium were now gray and/or shiny bald. The once smooth complexions had long since been replaced with a sea of wrinkles and face hair.

I looked at Kathie. “You sure we're in the right place? This looks more like a fifty-fifth reunion. Seems we're the only ones who haven't aged.” I nudged her with my elbow. “Look at that guy over there. The tall one with the little ring of hair creatively swirled around on top of his head. See him?”

Kathie chuckled. “Is that thing on his head still alive?”

I looked closer at the man and squinted, trying to erase thirty-five years. It was John Starrett, that son-of-a-bitch. “So that's what becomes of rock star has-beens, eh?”

“You sure that's him?” Kathie said.

“Positive,” I said. “I'd know that arrogant smirk anywhere.

“What are you gonna do?” Kathie said.

I looked at John and then at Kathie. “I've set it up with the band to ask John up to play a number with them. He can't very well refuse in front of all these people, can he?”

“And you think he won't remember how to play anymore after all these years?”

“Chances are he still has that fancy Strat under his bed and hasn't touched it since he took over his dad's farm right after high school. Oh man, this ought to be great. Watch this.”

I eased over to where John stood and walked right in front of him, making sure he saw me. I stopped as if surprised and turned to John.

“John?” I said, trying to feign surprise. “John Starrett?”

The man looked me over the way a bird eyes a beetle on the sidewalk. “Yes,” he said timidly. “I'm John.”

I held my hand hot to shake his but he didn't present his hand. “Bill,” I said, trying to jog his memory. “Bill Tepper. Seventh grade, Leonard Nash's class.”

I grabbed the sleeve of his right arm and pulled it toward me. My hand grasped onto his and suddenly I felt strange, like I was confronting an alien. I pulled my hand away and looked at his. It was a hideous thing, more like a claw than a hand. He had a thumb and the index finger only. The other fingers were missing. I looked up into his eyes with horror.

“Wha…wha…what happened?” I said, my mouth going dry.

Thirty years ago,” John said matter-of-factly, I got it caught in a threshing machine. I've learned to utilize what's left. It looks worse than it is.”

I licked my dry lips. “I'm sorry,” I said. “I had no idea.” Even if I wanted to fight John, he couldn't make a decent fist and I'd just feel foolish.

The band finished the number it was playing and the leader, Alan, stepped up to the microphone.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, his voice echoing through the hall. “We have a special guest in the audience tonight.”

I discreetly waved my arm low, trying to get Alan's attention.

“At this time we'd like to ask a guest guitarist to come up and play a number with us.” Alan scanned the audience. His eyes stopped on John.

I quickly stepped up to the stage and motioned to Alan. He was still looking at John and was about to call his name when I stepped up onto the stage. The audience clapped and cheered and whistled. After all I'd been a pretty good guitarist myself back in high school. Unfortunately, I hadn't kept at it for the past dozen years since my last band called it quits. Still, I couldn't let Alan call John up to the stage and draw attention to the claw hand that John once used to play guitar.

I grabbed the guitar and threw the strap over my neck. It felt somehow foreign but I felt I could muddle my way through an easy three-chord song and get off the stage before anyone else got any more ideas about me playing. The band launched into a Beatles' medley and within the first eight bars I was hopelessly lost. The song went on for what seemed like hours but was probably closer to four minutes—arguably the longest four minutes of my life. When the last notes faded away, I pulled the guitar off, set it down and slinked off the stage.

John walked up to me and patted me on the shoulder with his claw. “Nice try, Tepper,” he said. “You haven't changed a bit. Still a putz.”

I sidled back to the bar and found Kathie still on her stool. She turned toward me, smiling.

“Did you teach that ol' John Starrett a lesson, dear?” She said.

“Save it,” I said, my ears still hot. “John's got… Oh never mind.”

I turned to the bartender. “Whiskey sweet, straight up. And make it a double.”

The band started playing another sixties tune that I never liked the first time around. I finished my drink and before I could set the glass down I spotted another face from my miserable past. It was Carla Ross, the homecoming queen who thought she was hot shit all those years ago. There was nothing about her that suggested she was once the most sought after girl in high school. Her once shapely figure had widened considerably at the rump. The blond hair that hung down her back in the seat ahead of me was now gray and thinning. This was nobody's idea of a beauty by any stretch of the imagination.

She was standing next to a gray-haired old man who bore an uncanny resemblance to her father. I knew better, though, since her father had died during Reagan's second term.

I simply had to go over to her and get my digs in if for no other reason than to even the score. I tapped Carla on the shoulder and she turned around. I smiled and waited for her to recognize me.

“Carla?” I said.

She looked at me as if I'd puked on her shoes. She pursed her lips and shook her head. “I'm sorry, but I can't place you. It has been a few years after all.”

I spread my hands and raised my eyebrows. “Bill,” I said. “Bill Tepper. Seventh grade, sock hop? I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time now.”

Something in her eyes recognized me and she managed a weak smile. “Hi Bill. How have you been?”

“How have I been?” I said. “Is that all you have to say after nearly forty years? What have you been up to? Aren't you going to introduce me to your uncle here?” I pointed to the gray-haired man at her side.

Carla looked surprised. “Oh, I thought you already knew Vern. You remember Vern Klemment, don't you?” Carla lifted Vern's hand up to meet mine. He had a weak handshake. It reminded me of the last time I shook my grandpa's hand shortly before he died at a nursing home.

“Holy Christ,” I said. “This is Vern?”

Carla gave a half-hearted nod.

“What happened?” I said, my mouth still hanging open.

“He had a stroke,” Carla said. “About three years ago. He's up and about now but for a while it was touch and go. The boys have been a big help since the stroke.”

“The boys?” I said.

“Our boys,” Carla said. “We have six boys and two girls.”

“Gees,” was all I could muster.

Carla looked at me with wonder. “You don't seem to have aged that much Bill. What's your secret?”

I shrugged. “I dunno. No drugs, no cigarettes, no kids.”

Carla wasn't sure what to make of that statement. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?” Carla said.

Suddenly it didn't seem important anymore. The rage I'd held onto all these years seemed to slip away. All I could feel at this point was pity for her, her husband and her life.

“Nice to see you again,” I said and slowly walked back the bar and took my seat next to Kathie again.

Kathie had been watching the exchange. “Who was that old couple you were talking to?”

I signaled the bartender for another drink and turned back to Kathie. “That, believe it or not, was Carla Ross and Vern Klemment, homecoming queen and king.”

“But…”

“Stroke,” I said. “That and eight kids. She thinks I haven't changed much since school. Hell, she should see you.”

Kathie smiled and gently stroked my arm. She laid her head on my shoulder. Well,” she said, “looks like she won't be standing you up for any more dances.”

“Funny,” I said. “Very funny.”

“This reunion is pulling at my emotions from both ends,” I said. “On the one hand, I can't seem to get any vengeance, but on the other hand, look at those poor souls. I guess life isn't fair and maybe it's not supposed to be. It all seems to equal out in the end.”

I suspended my charitable thought momentarily when I spied Floyd Barns sitting at the far table by himself. I set my drink down and slid off the barstool. “Watch my drink,” I said. “I'm on a mission.”

“ Mission ?” Kathie said.

“Shoe scuffing time,” I said. “I see Floyd Barns sittin' over there.”

Kathie frowned. “What happened to life dealing equal hands compassion and understanding and letting it go?”

“This may be the only chance I get tonight for any payback at all.”

“And you think scuffing this guy's shoes will make you feel better?” Kathie waited for a reasonable answer.

“Watch my drink.”

I hurried over to where Floyd sat nursing a drink and stood over him. I leaned down and rested both hands on the table in front of him.

“Floyd?” I said. “Floyd Barns?”

Floyd looked at me, puzzled but not totally unprepared to meet a face from the past. “Yeah?”

Without waiting for an invitation I sat across from him. I needed to position myself to best advantage. Sometime in the next few minutes I'd have the opportunity to step on the tops of Floyd's shoes and put an end to four decades of bitterness.

“Bill Tepper,” I said. “Seventh grade through sophomore year.”

Something in Floyd's eyes told me that he still didn't remember me. He cocked his head slightly. “Weren't you in Rodencal's class first period?”

“That was Swanson's class, last period,” I said, inching my feet forward. “Man, has it been that long? Seems like just yesterday.” I slid my feet ahead a few more inches trying not to be obvious.

“I remember now,” Floyd said.

“Thought you might,” I said, going for the coup de gras. I reached forward with my feet and pounced. My ankle hit something hard and it stung.

“Ouch,” I said, reaching down to rub my ankle. “What the heck was that?”

I bent over and looked under the table. I'd missed Floyd's feet but managed to kick the step that his two feet rested on. I looked up above the table again. Funny how I hadn't noticed it before but Floyd was sitting in a wheel chair. No Beatle boots, no shiny finish on his shoes and only socks on his feet.

At that moment a woman approached the table and looked at me and then at Floyd. “Ready to go, dear?” She said, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair and pulling Floyd out from behind the table.

Floyd waved her off and she stopped pushing the chair. “Honey,” Floyd said, “This is Bill Tepper. We used to be in the same classes many many years ago.” He turned to me. “Bill, this is my wife, Alice.”

I looked up at Alice and then stood. I extended my hand and she shook it lightly, nodding politely but saying nothing.

I wasn't about to dig into another past to find out the circumstances surrounding Floyd's disability. It was enough to know that I wouldn't be exacting any shoe scuffing revenge on poor ol' Floyd Barns. My plans to become the great equalizer were falling apart.

That left only Lee Geistman, the little squirt that had practiced punching me in class. I couldn't leave here tonight without getting at least one punch back at him.

I wandered back toward the bar but ran into Roger Kellogg, another classmate from the sixties. I'd never had any problems with Roger and he was someone who normally knew everything that went on back then. Maybe things hadn't changed that much.

I stopped right in front of Roger and glanced sideways at him. We knew each other instantly and no introductions were necessary.

“Tepper, you old dog, you,” Roger said. “You haven't changed a bit, have you?”

I patted my stomach. “A little. But look at you, my god. A little Grecian Formula touchup on those last six gray hairs and you're twelve again. Good grief.”

We hashed over old times for a few minutes and I told him of how my revenge plans had dissipated. I shook my head.

“If I could just run into Lee Geistman and give him one good punch before I go home, I could get this monkey off my back once and for all.”

A large finger tapped me on the shoulder. I turned around and look up into the face of Arnold Schwarzenegger, or at least his body double.

“You want to do what?” The man said.

I looked at Roger and then back at the man. “What do you care? You wouldn't understand anyway.”

“Try me,” the man said, leaning down so that his nametag was even with my face.

I read the tag that was stuck to his lapel. It said, Hello, my name is and in black magic marker had been written Lee Geistman . I looked back up into his eyes.