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“It’s always so sad when things like this happen,” Mark says quietly.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I heard the door at the far end of the hallway swing open. Then I heard familiar footsteps approaching. After going to three different schools for seven years, I knew it was Mark.
“Hi, Mark,” I said.
“Hey, pal. I thought I’d find you here,” Mark said.
I sighed wearily.
“Did you find her?” Mark asked tentatively.
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell her how you feel?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“What did she say?”
I turned around to face my best friend. Concern born of seven years’ worth of friendship was written on his open face. Whatever his faults, you could never accuse Mark of being unconcerned.
“I – ah – wrote her a letter,” I said slightly embarrassed.
“I see,” he said quietly. He pursed his lips. “Did she say anything?”
“I asked her not to read it until after commencement.”
“I see,” he said again. I could tell he was disappointed in me.
There was another one of those awkward silences. I felt oddly like a mischievous schoolboy who’d been sent to the principal’s office for some infraction of the rules. Mark just shook his head in disbelief and gave me a tut-tut look.
“You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes playing it safe can be the worst thing you can do.”
“Macht nichts,” I said bitterly.
“Like hell, macht nichts, pal. It makes a hell of a difference, if you ask me.” Mark shook his head sadly. “I really don’t want to be there when you find out for yourself what a stupid mistake it is that you made today.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“Hi, Mark,” I said.
“Hey, pal. I thought I’d find you here,” Mark said.
I sighed wearily.
“Did you find her?” Mark asked tentatively.
“Yeah.”
“Did you tell her how you feel?”
“In a manner of speaking, yes.”
“What did she say?”
I turned around to face my best friend. Concern born of seven years’ worth of friendship was written on his open face. Whatever his faults, you could never accuse Mark of being unconcerned.
“I – ah – wrote her a letter,” I said slightly embarrassed.
“I see,” he said quietly. He pursed his lips. “Did she say anything?”
“I asked her not to read it until after commencement.”
“I see,” he said again. I could tell he was disappointed in me.
There was another one of those awkward silences. I felt oddly like a mischievous schoolboy who’d been sent to the principal’s office for some infraction of the rules. Mark just shook his head in disbelief and gave me a tut-tut look.
“You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes playing it safe can be the worst thing you can do.”
“Macht nichts,” I said bitterly.
“Like hell, macht nichts, pal. It makes a hell of a difference, if you ask me.” Mark shook his head sadly. “I really don’t want to be there when you find out for yourself what a stupid mistake it is that you made today.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I wanted to be braver—wanted to reach for her, close the space between us the way guys in movies did, like it was all instinct and rhythm. But my body didn’t move fast enough, and maybe that was the point.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“Disclaimer:
This novel is a work of fiction, weaving together two timelines to tell its story. While it may reference historical events and prominent figures, the characters and situations presented are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental—unless you are one of those historical figures, in which case, thank you for your contribution to history!
(Disclaimer)
Some events depicted in the 1980s storyline are inspired by the author’s own experiences at South Miami High, an actual place that serves as a setting in this novel. However, remember that memory is a tricky thing, and for the sake of drama (and a good story), many of these events have been creatively altered. So, if you think you recognize yourself, don’t worry—it’s all just a figment of imagination with a dash of artistic license.
Thank you for diving into this fictional world. Enjoy the ride through time!”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
This novel is a work of fiction, weaving together two timelines to tell its story. While it may reference historical events and prominent figures, the characters and situations presented are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental—unless you are one of those historical figures, in which case, thank you for your contribution to history!
(Disclaimer)
Some events depicted in the 1980s storyline are inspired by the author’s own experiences at South Miami High, an actual place that serves as a setting in this novel. However, remember that memory is a tricky thing, and for the sake of drama (and a good story), many of these events have been creatively altered. So, if you think you recognize yourself, don’t worry—it’s all just a figment of imagination with a dash of artistic license.
Thank you for diving into this fictional world. Enjoy the ride through time!”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“She stepped close—so close I could smell the faint warmth of sandalwood and citrus on her skin—and her fingers moved with an ease I didn’t have. One button. Then another. Then the one over my heart. My chest rose faster with each undone thread.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“With quick, deliberate strides, I stepped out into the brightly sunlit June afternoon. A warm breeze wafted gently from the west. In the trees, barely heard above the din of cars and buses on the adjacent street, a mockingbird sang.”
―
―
“Then it was perfect,” [Kelly] said. 'You were kind. You were here. That’s what matters.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“I was not able to sleep that night. To be honest, I didn’t even try. I stood in front of my living room window, staring out at the bright lights of New York City. I don’t know how long I stood there; in fact, I didn’t see the millions of multicolored lights or the never-ending streams of headlights and taillights on the busy streets below.
Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside. Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school.
Most of all, I saw Marty.
Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director.
Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert.
Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess.
Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year.
I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
Instead, I saw, in my mind’s eye, the crowded high school classrooms and halls where my friends and I had shared triumphs and tragedies, where the ghosts of our past still reside. Images flickered in my mind. I saw the faces of teachers and fellow students I hadn’t seen in years. I heard snatches of songs I had rehearsed in third period chorus. I saw the library where I had spent long hours studying after school.
Most of all, I saw Marty.
Marty as a shy sophomore, auditioning for Mrs. Quincy, the school choir director.
Marty singing her first solo at the 1981 Christmas concert.
Marty at the 1982 Homecoming Dance, looking radiant after being selected as Junior Princess.
Marty sitting alone in the chorus practice room on the last day of our senior year.
I stared long and hard at those sepia-colored memories. And as my mind carried me back to the place I had sworn I’d never return to, I remembered.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“Slowly, ever so slowly, the heavy door to the chorus room creaked open. We all looked to see who was entering the room.
It was a girl. She was of average height, clad in new 'first day of the semester' jeans, a white blouse that peeked out from under a navy-blue jacket, and clean new Keds girls’ sneakers. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy against her pale skin, partly because it was cold outside, partly because she thought she was interrupting the class.
'Can I help you?' Mrs. Quincy asked.
The girl hesitated at the door, clutching her backpack tightly. She looked at Mrs. Quincy nervously and fumbled for a piece of paper in her pocket. She walked up to the teacher, holding out the class schedule change form with both hope and a bit of fear. She bit her lip and waited for Mrs. Quincy’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t be turned away or scolded.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
It was a girl. She was of average height, clad in new 'first day of the semester' jeans, a white blouse that peeked out from under a navy-blue jacket, and clean new Keds girls’ sneakers. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy against her pale skin, partly because it was cold outside, partly because she thought she was interrupting the class.
'Can I help you?' Mrs. Quincy asked.
The girl hesitated at the door, clutching her backpack tightly. She looked at Mrs. Quincy nervously and fumbled for a piece of paper in her pocket. She walked up to the teacher, holding out the class schedule change form with both hope and a bit of fear. She bit her lip and waited for Mrs. Quincy’s reaction, hoping she wouldn’t be turned away or scolded.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“The girl – I couldn’t get over how lovely she looked, even though she was still a bit nervous – straightened up and squared her shoulders back. Her left leg gave a little tremor, but she took a deep breath. Her face was blank for a moment – she was probably wondering which song she wanted to sing – and then, with more confidence, she said,
'Right. Here we go.'
She raised her head, and even though it wasn’t intentional, her eyes locked on mine as she opened her mouth and, in a crystal clear, pitch-perfect voice, sang the first line of 'We’ll Meet Again.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
'Right. Here we go.'
She raised her head, and even though it wasn’t intentional, her eyes locked on mine as she opened her mouth and, in a crystal clear, pitch-perfect voice, sang the first line of 'We’ll Meet Again.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“My friend (and ex-lover) Nicole says I’m just a restless soul. My barhopping friend Mark thinks it’s just a premature middle-age crisis; I just celebrated my 33rd birthday last week, after all. I have another theory. It’s not original, so I can’t call it the James Garraty Theory of Life. Want to hear it? Here goes. No matter how old you get, how affluent or successful you become, you’ll never outrun the ghosts of your past. Particularly the ghosts of your adolescence. Put simply, you can graduate from high school, but your soul will never leave that place.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“She hesitated, biting her lip—a fleeting gesture that sent my heart into a full-on Immelmann turn. 'I would’ve been here sooner, but I ran into a couple of friends on my way down from sixth-period English,' she said apologetically, her tone tinged with sincerity.
'That’s okay,' I replied, perhaps too quickly. 'You don’t need to explain. I’m just… glad you’re here.' I tried to sound casual, as if my emotions weren’t a live wire humming just beneath the surface. 'We’re just gonna practice singing a song.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
'That’s okay,' I replied, perhaps too quickly. 'You don’t need to explain. I’m just… glad you’re here.' I tried to sound casual, as if my emotions weren’t a live wire humming just beneath the surface. 'We’re just gonna practice singing a song.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“So, are you going to tell her?” Mark asked. He was, and still is, a persistent person.
Good question, I thought as I stared blankly into space. Am I going to march up to Martina Elizabeth and tell her that I love her? I pondered the question carefully as though it was part of some unscheduled final exam. Instead of answers, however, all I could come up with was a series of dilemmas.
I noticed that Mark was still staring at me with a quizzical look on his face. “What?” I yelped.
“You haven’t answered my question, man,”
I looked down, inhaled deeply, looked up and exhaled very slowly. “I, uh, don’t know.” I turned my gaze to my lunch tray, the other tables, and the clock on the wall. Anything to avoid my best friend’s inquisitive gaze.
“I’ll take that as a resounding ‘no,’” Mark said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Mark said, “but it’s what you meant to say.”
“I – I can’t tell her. Not now.”
“Why the fuck not?” Mark asked, his voice rising in pitch and volume. A group of student journalists from The Serpent’s Tale – Alan Goode, Francisco Vargas, Juan Calderon and Roger Lawrence – looked at us with bemused expressions from one of the neighboring tables. Mark noticed, cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a half-whisper. “Why don’t you tell her, you dumbass?”
“I can’t,” I repeated, shaking my head emphatically.
“What are you so afraid of?”
Another good question. “Nothing…everything,” I replied.
“What, pray tell, do you mean?” Mark asked. “Are you more afraid that she doesn’t like you, or that she does?”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
Good question, I thought as I stared blankly into space. Am I going to march up to Martina Elizabeth and tell her that I love her? I pondered the question carefully as though it was part of some unscheduled final exam. Instead of answers, however, all I could come up with was a series of dilemmas.
I noticed that Mark was still staring at me with a quizzical look on his face. “What?” I yelped.
“You haven’t answered my question, man,”
I looked down, inhaled deeply, looked up and exhaled very slowly. “I, uh, don’t know.” I turned my gaze to my lunch tray, the other tables, and the clock on the wall. Anything to avoid my best friend’s inquisitive gaze.
“I’ll take that as a resounding ‘no,’” Mark said.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No,” Mark said, “but it’s what you meant to say.”
“I – I can’t tell her. Not now.”
“Why the fuck not?” Mark asked, his voice rising in pitch and volume. A group of student journalists from The Serpent’s Tale – Alan Goode, Francisco Vargas, Juan Calderon and Roger Lawrence – looked at us with bemused expressions from one of the neighboring tables. Mark noticed, cleared his throat and lowered his voice to a half-whisper. “Why don’t you tell her, you dumbass?”
“I can’t,” I repeated, shaking my head emphatically.
“What are you so afraid of?”
Another good question. “Nothing…everything,” I replied.
“What, pray tell, do you mean?” Mark asked. “Are you more afraid that she doesn’t like you, or that she does?”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“First Lines: I’ve never been much of a party animal. Probably never will be. It’s not that I have anything against parties or the people who throw them—they’re fine, really. Sometimes they’re even fun, given the right circumstances. But me? I’m the kind of guy who always ends up in the quieter corner, nursing a drink and hoping nobody expects me to do the Macarena.
It’s not that I dislike people. I like them. I like conversations that don’t require shouting over a bassline or decoding through strobe lights. And it’s not like I have an aversion to fun—I just tend to find mine in a good book or a playlist that doesn’t involve a DJ screaming, “Everybody clap your hands!” every fifteen minutes. You could say I’m more of a gather-with-friends kind of guy than a party-animal type, and honestly, I’m fine with that.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
It’s not that I dislike people. I like them. I like conversations that don’t require shouting over a bassline or decoding through strobe lights. And it’s not like I have an aversion to fun—I just tend to find mine in a good book or a playlist that doesn’t involve a DJ screaming, “Everybody clap your hands!” every fifteen minutes. You could say I’m more of a gather-with-friends kind of guy than a party-animal type, and honestly, I’m fine with that.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes. Let the music swell. Let the memory have its minute.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen: A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen: A Jim Garraty Story
“Somewhere, the radio was playing—WCRB again, soft classical. I didn’t register it at first. I was too busy putting my keys down, toeing off my shoes, breathing into the hush. But then the melody changed.
Piano. Slow. Familiar.
It was Adagio cantabile.
Not Joel’s version, with its doo-wop backbone and lovesick harmonies.
Beethoven’s.
The real thing.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
Piano. Slow. Familiar.
It was Adagio cantabile.
Not Joel’s version, with its doo-wop backbone and lovesick harmonies.
Beethoven’s.
The real thing.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“Kelly’s apartment sat on the second floor of a walk-up in Mission Hill, half a block from a corner deli that still had its neon “OPEN” sign flickering. The banister wobbled when I followed her upstairs, and the hallway smelled faintly like cooked rice and lemon cleaner.
When she opened the door, I stepped into a space that felt like her: warm, a little cluttered, nothing performative. A couch with mismatched pillows. A lamp with a crooked shade. A milk crate bookshelf that had everything from The Bell Jar to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead crammed beside cassette tapes and Playbills. Theater posters curled slightly at the corners. A sprig of dried lavender rested in a glass next to the stereo.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
When she opened the door, I stepped into a space that felt like her: warm, a little cluttered, nothing performative. A couch with mismatched pillows. A lamp with a crooked shade. A milk crate bookshelf that had everything from The Bell Jar to Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead crammed beside cassette tapes and Playbills. Theater posters curled slightly at the corners. A sprig of dried lavender rested in a glass next to the stereo.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, "Do you want to dance?"
“To ‘Little Brown Jug’?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.”
Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. “Party pooper.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“To ‘Little Brown Jug’?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.”
Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. “Party pooper.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“It’s okay,” she said gently, her voice quieter than the music still spinning behind her. “Let me.”
Her hands rose to the front of my shirt again, her fingers undoing buttons, not like she was undressing me, but like she was offering something. Making it easy for me to stay.
My breath caught somewhere behind my ribs, and I felt my heart beating too hard in my chest. It felt ridiculous, how fast it was going, how loud everything inside me suddenly seemed.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
Her hands rose to the front of my shirt again, her fingers undoing buttons, not like she was undressing me, but like she was offering something. Making it easy for me to stay.
My breath caught somewhere behind my ribs, and I felt my heart beating too hard in my chest. It felt ridiculous, how fast it was going, how loud everything inside me suddenly seemed.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“It was a girl. She was tall but not gawky, clad in new “first day of the semester” jeans, a white blouse that peeked out from under a navy-blue jacket, and clean new Keds girls’ sneakers. Her chestnut-colored hair was pulled up into a ponytail, and her cheeks were rosy against her pale skin, partly because it was cold outside, partly because she thought she was interrupting the class.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“[First Line} It’s quiet here. But then again, it’s supposed to be quiet.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I’m sorry,' [Marty] said unexpectedly.
“Huh?”
“That we never got to perform that duet together. Don’t you remember? For the Spring Concert?”
“Oh, yeah. What was that song we were going to sing?” I asked.
She placed her right hand on her hip and mock-pouted at me. “James Garraty, don’t tell me you forgot.”
I gave her an impish who, me look. When she smiled, I said in a more serious tone: “‘Somewhere,’ from West Side Story.” I hummed the song’s first measure; it sounded a half-octave off key.
Marty frowned. “You haven’t practiced lately,” she said disapprovingly.
“No, I haven’t,” I said, and as I said it waves of melancholy washed over me like a cold dark tide. Marty saw my expression change; she walked up to me and placed her arm around my shoulder comfortingly.
“I know,” she said softly, “how much you were looking forward to it, Jim. I was looking forward to singing that duet with you, too.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really. You’re a terrific singer. Who wouldn’t want to sing a duet with you?”
“I bet,” I said, “you say that to all the boys.”
She laughed. My heart jumped as it usually did when she laughed. A thought clicked in my brain: What was it I’d written just a while ago? You are the one person who has the ability to brighten up a sour day. You have always managed to make me return a smile to someone else.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“Huh?”
“That we never got to perform that duet together. Don’t you remember? For the Spring Concert?”
“Oh, yeah. What was that song we were going to sing?” I asked.
She placed her right hand on her hip and mock-pouted at me. “James Garraty, don’t tell me you forgot.”
I gave her an impish who, me look. When she smiled, I said in a more serious tone: “‘Somewhere,’ from West Side Story.” I hummed the song’s first measure; it sounded a half-octave off key.
Marty frowned. “You haven’t practiced lately,” she said disapprovingly.
“No, I haven’t,” I said, and as I said it waves of melancholy washed over me like a cold dark tide. Marty saw my expression change; she walked up to me and placed her arm around my shoulder comfortingly.
“I know,” she said softly, “how much you were looking forward to it, Jim. I was looking forward to singing that duet with you, too.”
“Really?” I asked.
“Really. You’re a terrific singer. Who wouldn’t want to sing a duet with you?”
“I bet,” I said, “you say that to all the boys.”
She laughed. My heart jumped as it usually did when she laughed. A thought clicked in my brain: What was it I’d written just a while ago? You are the one person who has the ability to brighten up a sour day. You have always managed to make me return a smile to someone else.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I glance at Maddie and see that she has a flush on her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. She looks at me and smiles. Then she says, 'Do you want to dance?'
'To "Little Brown Jug"?' I raise a skeptical eyebrow. 'All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.'
Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. 'Party pooper.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
'To "Little Brown Jug"?' I raise a skeptical eyebrow. 'All you’ll get is your toes being stepped on – constantly. The rhythm is a bit too fast for me, I think.'
Maddie’s smile fades as if a passing cloud has eclipsed the moon over Manhattan. The spark in her hazel eyes dims a bit as well. 'Party pooper.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“Before I could even think of a suitable retort – hopefully a witty one – I saw, out of the corner of my eye, someone walking with deliberate purpose from the cafeteria entrance toward our table. I turned my head in that direction, and when I recognized who this someone was, my heart leaped to my throat, and I almost forgot to breathe.
Speaking of the Devil, I thought, as I beheld the familiar presence of Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, considered by many to be one of the prettiest girls in the Class of 1983.
Even dressed as she was – denim jeans and a matching jacket, with a plaid button-down blouse, scuffed girls’ Keds sneakers, and her long chestnut hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that bobbed up and down when she walked – Marty was simply, heart-achingly gorgeous. Wherever and whenever she was in a room – even a busy cafeteria – she almost always got looks of admiration and/or envy from her fellow students. Most of the guys in our school wanted to be with her, while many of the girls wanted to be like her.
She was tall, lithe, and naturally sexy; these physical attributes drew a lot of attention to her. Most guys, including me, paid particular attention to them, mainly on the rare occasions when she wore her athletic shorts and T-shirt on the way to change in the girls' locker room after her fourth-period PE class. She was also one of the nicest, sweetest people who went to South Miami. She almost always had a pleasant smile or a cheery 'Hello, there!' – especially early in the morning, when most of us were either grumpy or still groggy from waking up early to get to school.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
Speaking of the Devil, I thought, as I beheld the familiar presence of Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, considered by many to be one of the prettiest girls in the Class of 1983.
Even dressed as she was – denim jeans and a matching jacket, with a plaid button-down blouse, scuffed girls’ Keds sneakers, and her long chestnut hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that bobbed up and down when she walked – Marty was simply, heart-achingly gorgeous. Wherever and whenever she was in a room – even a busy cafeteria – she almost always got looks of admiration and/or envy from her fellow students. Most of the guys in our school wanted to be with her, while many of the girls wanted to be like her.
She was tall, lithe, and naturally sexy; these physical attributes drew a lot of attention to her. Most guys, including me, paid particular attention to them, mainly on the rare occasions when she wore her athletic shorts and T-shirt on the way to change in the girls' locker room after her fourth-period PE class. She was also one of the nicest, sweetest people who went to South Miami. She almost always had a pleasant smile or a cheery 'Hello, there!' – especially early in the morning, when most of us were either grumpy or still groggy from waking up early to get to school.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“I had been there for over an hour—long enough for my Budweiser to go warm, long enough to realize I had made a mistake. It wasn’t just the temperature that bothered me; Budweiser had never been my beer of choice, its metallic aftertaste lingering unpleasantly with each sip.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
“Mark, not usually one for hugs, put his arms around me without a word. No 'I told you so,' no jokes—just a friend letting me cry. 'Jim,' he said softly, 'it's okay. Even if you didn't say it... she knows, man. She knows.' And he just stood there, patting my back, until I cried myself out.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“The elevator is unusually empty as we step inside. The Musak version of "Faith of the Heart" plays in the background, a stark contrast to the classical melodies that filled the car. As it ascends to the 33rd floor, I turn to Maddie, and without a word, we kiss—a passionate promise of the evening to come. The scent of her perfume, a subtle hint of vanilla and jasmine, fills the air, mingling with the warmth of her skin.
The kiss deepens, and for those few seconds, nothing else exists—no city below, no sky above, just Maddie and me and the promise of the night ahead. It's a kiss that speaks of new beginnings, of chapters yet to be written, and stories yet to be told.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
The kiss deepens, and for those few seconds, nothing else exists—no city below, no sky above, just Maddie and me and the promise of the night ahead. It's a kiss that speaks of new beginnings, of chapters yet to be written, and stories yet to be told.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“Before I could even think of a suitable retort – hopefully a witty one – I saw, out of the corner of my eye, someone walking with deliberate purpose from the cafeteria entrance toward our table. I turned my head in that direction, and when I recognized who this someone was, my heart leaped to my throat, and I almost forgot to breathe.
Speaking of the Devil, I thought, as I beheld the familiar presence of Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, considered by many to be one of the prettiest girls in the Class of 1983.
Even dressed as she was – denim jeans and a matching jacket, with a plaid button-down blouse, scuffed girls’ Keds sneakers, and her long chestnut hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that bobbed up and down when she walked – Marty was simply, heart-achingly gorgeous. Wherever and whenever she was in a room – even a busy cafeteria – she almost always got looks of admiration and/or envy from her fellow students. Most of the guys in our school wanted to be with her, while many of the girls wanted to be like her.
She was tall, lithe, and naturally sexy; these physical attributes drew a lot of attention to her. Most guys, including me, paid particular attention to them, mainly on the rare occasions when she wore her athletic shorts and T-shirt on the way to change in the girls' locker room after her fourth-period PE class.
She was also one of the nicest, sweetest people who went to South Miami. She almost always had a pleasant smile or a cheery 'Hello, there!' – especially early in the morning, when most of us were either grumpy or still groggy from waking up early to get to school.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
Speaking of the Devil, I thought, as I beheld the familiar presence of Martina Elizabeth Reynaud, considered by many to be one of the prettiest girls in the Class of 1983.
Even dressed as she was – denim jeans and a matching jacket, with a plaid button-down blouse, scuffed girls’ Keds sneakers, and her long chestnut hair pulled up into a simple ponytail that bobbed up and down when she walked – Marty was simply, heart-achingly gorgeous. Wherever and whenever she was in a room – even a busy cafeteria – she almost always got looks of admiration and/or envy from her fellow students. Most of the guys in our school wanted to be with her, while many of the girls wanted to be like her.
She was tall, lithe, and naturally sexy; these physical attributes drew a lot of attention to her. Most guys, including me, paid particular attention to them, mainly on the rare occasions when she wore her athletic shorts and T-shirt on the way to change in the girls' locker room after her fourth-period PE class.
She was also one of the nicest, sweetest people who went to South Miami. She almost always had a pleasant smile or a cheery 'Hello, there!' – especially early in the morning, when most of us were either grumpy or still groggy from waking up early to get to school.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“I can still see it in my mind, even after 20 years. South Miami High, that canary yellow bunker on the corner of Southwest 53rd Street and Southwest 68th Avenue. It was a short walk from the house where I lived with my mom, Sarah Garraty, ever since my dad died in the early years of America’s lost crusade in South Vietnam. I didn’t need a bike or a car to get there. It was close enough to smell the cafeteria food and hear the bell ring. "Cobra Country" was a warehouse for 2100 kids and 150 grown-ups, as one of the Cobras joked once. It was built in 1971, when the world was going crazy with wars and scandals and generational strife. It had three floors of classrooms, chemistry labs, a library, a student publications room, a Little Theater for the drama classes, an auditorium for the various choirs and modern dance groups, and walls lined with rows of lockers. It was a place full of secrets and surprises. It was where life happened, for better or worse.”
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
― Reunion: Coda: Book 2 of the Reunion Duology
“She kissed me one more time before we left. Soft. Warm. Like punctuation—something between a semicolon and an ellipsis.”
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
― Comings and Goings - The Art of Being Seen : A Jim Garraty Story
