Writing for Fun
March 2015
The Reunion - Maureen Rampersaud
Bea pulls open the curtains with a flourish. Yes! They said it would be fine and it really is. She takes her tea out on the balcony, wrapping her fleecy dressing gown around her. She feels the weak early morning sun on her face and smiles . . . it's good to be alive, and how good her life is. How many fifty year old women have a soul mate for a husband, three beautiful, successful children and a circle of funny, supportive, loyal friends? She sighs, sips her tea and thinks about what the day has in store for her.
Rose has had another sleepless night. Her whole body aches as she tries to emerge from her bed. She rolls onto her side and lets her feet slide into her slippers and shuffles to the bathroom, catching sight of the puffy, wrinkled old woman in the mirror. She sits at the kitchen table with her coffee. She doesn't sit out in the garden anymore because of the abuse from the neighbours. After her divorce, she could only afford this miserable house in an even more miserable area. Her only son had moved to Australia . . . they were never close anyway. The sun is in her eyes, so she pulls down the blind. Another long day, but she must make up her mind whether to go to the reunion.
The school hall is buzzing with 'old girls' shrieking, laughing and chattering. Rose finds that memories all flood back with the sounds, the smells and the whole atmosphere of the place. She shivers and takes her coffee to the most quiet corner she can find.
Bea is laughing uproariously at an anecdote about one of the teachers, when she stops abruptly and feels all the colour drain from her face. She sees Rose sitting alone with a cup and saucer balanced on her knees. Bullying is such a degrading activity. Bea musters all her courage and approaches Rose.
'Mind if I join you?'
Rose looks up with an expression that is hard to read.
'Please do, Bea.'
They look at each other for what seems like hours. They think through the cruelty of one of them and the agony of the other. Is there really Divine Justice?
'I'm so sorry for what I did to you, Bea.'