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Reunion Quotes
Reunion: A Story: A Novella
by
Alex Diaz-Granados19 ratings, 4.68 average rating, 8 reviews
Reunion Quotes
Showing 1-15 of 15
“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 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: A Story: A Novella
'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: A Story: A Novella
“[Opening Lines] It’s quiet here. But then again, it’s supposed to be quiet. Cemeteries, even those in the heart of a city, tend to be full of silence. The sounds of the neighborhood – barking dogs, laughing children, even the traffic on the adjacent streets – are swallowed up by the silence of the graveyard. The walls around the perimeter of the cemetery – imposing redbrick walls six feet high and adorned with a black iron fence – have something to do with it, I suppose. I’m a historian, not an acoustical engineer.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“Do you remember what you said to me on the last day of school?” I ask.
“I said a lot of things, Jim. But that was, what? 14? 15 years ago?”
“You said that if I didn’t tell her how I felt, it would come back someday and bite me on my ass.”
“That sounds like something I would say.”
“I hate to admit it,” I say, “but you were right.”
“I was wise beyond my years,” Mark says lightly.
“At the time, I thought you were just messing with my head.”
“I was messing with your head. I was also telling you the truth.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I said a lot of things, Jim. But that was, what? 14? 15 years ago?”
“You said that if I didn’t tell her how I felt, it would come back someday and bite me on my ass.”
“That sounds like something I would say.”
“I hate to admit it,” I say, “but you were right.”
“I was wise beyond my years,” Mark says lightly.
“At the time, I thought you were just messing with my head.”
“I was messing with your head. I was also telling you the truth.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“[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
“A million sensations hit me all at once – the scent of her perfume, the slight taste of strawberries from her lips, the clean minty taste of her breath, the rise and fall of her chest as she slowly breathed, the palpable beating of her heart, the welcome warmth of her presence – and I remembered the lyrics of the song I’d heard in my dream:
Where time's winds blow
That's where you'll be.
Where love's fires glow
Your smile I'll see.
Across the stars
Across the sea
Where time's winds blow
Our hearts will be.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
Where time's winds blow
That's where you'll be.
Where love's fires glow
Your smile I'll see.
Across the stars
Across the sea
Where time's winds blow
Our hearts will be.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I wish for so many things, Marty. I hope you understand what I’m trying to tell you. I love you, my dear Marty, and I always will.”
― 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
“Hello, Jimmy,' said an all-too-familiar voice from somewhere behind me. It was Marty. No one else at South Miami had that delightful, almost exotic English accent.
I turned around slowly until I faced her. “Hi, Marty,” I said.
She got up from one of the few chairs that had not been placed in storage and gave me a shy half-smile. “So, come to say goodbye, then?” Marty asked.
I gazed at her, committing every detail of her appearance to memory. She wore faded Levi’s blue jeans, a white and orange SOUTH MIAMI CHORUS T-shirt, white socks and an old pair of Keds sneakers. Her chestnut hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore very little makeup; a touch of mascara here, a hint of blush there, a bit of lip-gloss to make things a bit interesting. She was shockingly, heartrendingly beautiful.
My heart skipped a beat. “I couldn’t go without seeing you, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “Oh, come on; I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“It’s true,” I said. “And no, I don’t say that to all the girls.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
I turned around slowly until I faced her. “Hi, Marty,” I said.
She got up from one of the few chairs that had not been placed in storage and gave me a shy half-smile. “So, come to say goodbye, then?” Marty asked.
I gazed at her, committing every detail of her appearance to memory. She wore faded Levi’s blue jeans, a white and orange SOUTH MIAMI CHORUS T-shirt, white socks and an old pair of Keds sneakers. Her chestnut hair was tied into a ponytail. She wore very little makeup; a touch of mascara here, a hint of blush there, a bit of lip-gloss to make things a bit interesting. She was shockingly, heartrendingly beautiful.
My heart skipped a beat. “I couldn’t go without seeing you, you know,” I said.
She smiled. “Oh, come on; I bet you say that to all the girls.”
“It’s true,” I said. “And no, I don’t say that to all the girls.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“I am sitting alone in my old English classroom at my old desk, reading from Shakespeare’s Macbeth. The only sounds in the room are the ticking of the clock and the occasional rustling of the pages of the book. Then, Martina Reynaud, the most beautiful girl in the Class of ’83, walks in. She’s tall, graceful, and absolutely breathtaking. She’s wearing a black dress, one that shows off her long dancer’s legs. Her peaches-and-cream complexion is flawless; there is no sign of a pimple anywhere. Her long chestnut hair cascades down over her shoulders. In short, she is the personification of feminine elegance from the top of her head to her high-heeled shoes.
I try to get back to my reading assignment, but the scent of her perfume, a mixture of jasmine and orange blossoms, is beguiling. I look to my right; she is sitting at the desk right next to mine. She gives me a smile. My heart skips a beat. I know guys who would kill for one of Marty’s smiles. She has that effect on most men. Her smile is full of genuine warmth and affection; I can tell by the look in her hazel eyes.
“Hi, Jimmy,” she says. Her voice is soft and melodious; she speaks with a lilting British accent. From what I’ve heard, her family is from England. London, actually.
“Hi,” I reply, feeling about as articulate as your average mango. Then, mustering my last reserves of willpower, I focus my attention on Shakespeare’s play.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
I try to get back to my reading assignment, but the scent of her perfume, a mixture of jasmine and orange blossoms, is beguiling. I look to my right; she is sitting at the desk right next to mine. She gives me a smile. My heart skips a beat. I know guys who would kill for one of Marty’s smiles. She has that effect on most men. Her smile is full of genuine warmth and affection; I can tell by the look in her hazel eyes.
“Hi, Jimmy,” she says. Her voice is soft and melodious; she speaks with a lilting British accent. From what I’ve heard, her family is from England. London, actually.
“Hi,” I reply, feeling about as articulate as your average mango. Then, mustering my last reserves of willpower, I focus my attention on Shakespeare’s play.”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
“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
“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
“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
“My heart aches with pent-up yearning as I hold the girl of my dreams in my arms. I look into those wonderful eyes and a million questions rush into my fevered mind at that instant. I try to speak, but Marty places her index finger on my lips and gently shushes me with a Mona Lisa smile. “Don’t say a word,” she whispers. “Let’s just dance, okay?”
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
― Reunion: A Story: A Novella
