“Do I pass?” I checked my reflection one more time in the freestanding bedroom mirror. Keeping in theme, I wore my old fifties’ color-guard outfit. The short flared crimson skirt and jacket still fit. It was the one outfit I’d kept meticulously stored throughout the years, along with the white leather boots and crimson tassels. Enough summer tan lingered to lightly bronze my legs. I’d cut simple side bangs and arranged my hair into a slightly rumpled Monroe bob.

“Mmm, let me check you out.” Kirk nuzzled my neck, inhaling my Passion fragranced skin. “Smell good.” He straightened and swept an appreciative gaze over me, lingering overly where the snug jacket hugged my bosom. “Looks good, too. I’ll keep her.” That had become our little joke, the ‘I’ll keep him/her.’ As though anything else was absurd.

Role-playing. Because Kirk’s gestures and cliches had no depth beyond sex.

My going-through-motions existence had equipped me to slide into dialogue I needed to keep things on an even keel in our marriage. There were moments when, mind reeling from memories, I’d assume the business partner approach of negotiation and professional courtesy. Other times, during Kirk’s quiet times, I’d become his best friend and pal. I no longer regarded appeasement as a demeaning thing.

“Life’s a trade-off anyway, Cal,” I’d told her one day during one of my mind-purgings. “Think about it,” I popped peanuts in my mouth and munched as we visited in her den, barefooted and drinking ice cold Diet Pepsis. “From the time we’re born, we trade out. Mama tickled and fed us and we gave her big drooly smiles and goo-goos. In school, we studied, the teacher gave us good grades.” We rolled our eyes at each other over that one, snickering for long moments before settling back into sobriety. “We behaved and our folks treated us well. If we didn’t, we – at least I got grounded. Courtship – ” I shrugged, “and marriage ordains the dilly of all trade-offs. What can I say?’

“Not with God,” Callie began to protest. “His love is unconditional and – ”

“Oh absolutely, His love is pure and unchanging. But yes,” I wagged a finger at her. “The Bible is full of If you will do this then I will do that. Even the Almighty sets conditions for us to reach Heaven. There’s never a time we’re not responsible to something or someone, even if it’s only to ourselves.”

“Hey!” Callie stretched her back. “This is heavy stuff.” She guzzled Pepsi. “And you’re right. I’d just never thought of it that way.” She cocked an irreverent eyebrow then, transporting me right back to teen days. “You ought to be a writer, y’know?”

“Hey! I try.” We sat in companionable silence for long moments, reflecting on the conversation.

“The trade-off concept – it’s what’s kept me putting one foot in front of the other. No joke. For so long, Kirk has been simply someone I’m – ” I wrinkled my nose and squinted in concentration, “sorta responsible for. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” Cal’s countenance fell somber. She, too, had been hurt by the whole drama that started in Solomon years earlier. “I’m sorry, Neecy, that you had to go through all that.”

“Hey,” I poured more salted peanuts into my palm. “That was then and this is now. I do my best not to look back.” I laughed then. “Y’know, Cal, I’ve heard folks say ‘I just can’t forget what he did to me’ – ” I shook my head. “Things can get so bad, you either drown in the sludge or you swim out the other side, shake it off, take a good bath, and leave it behind.”

Cal now lounged in her easy chair, feet tucked under her, head lolled back against the backrest, watching me with an intentness that made my throat go all tight.

The words shot out of my mouth. “I’m glad you’re back into my life, Cal.”

“Me, too, Neecy. I sure missed you. What you’ve shared with me today – by the way, thanks – is pure gold. There’s no friend like an old friend.” Her eyes misted; she blinked and roused up to reach for the Planters Peanuts jar nesting on the glass coffee table between us.

“You’re absolutely on target about acting out roles.” Her chocolate eyes grew far away. “Maybe if I’d been more resilient – sensitive to my wifely role, I’d’ve stayed with Rog.” She blinked then and took a deep breath and lifted her brow. “Who knows? I was too danged self-absorbed. Thought conceding one iota was belittling.” Her head moved slowly from side to side. “Foolish, foolish, foolish.”

“Strange,” I said softly, “most folks do think playing games or play-acting is beneath them when it’s really all life is about.” I shrugged. “Just have to be careful not to call it game-playing or play-acting. Some folks are so literal they’d argue the question till Christ returns and others – of our Pharasetical religious order – would bust a blood vessel, thinking such a notion harbors deception.” I rolled my eyes. “We won’t even deal with our redneck friends’ contempt for what, to them, is not totally, flat-footed real.”

Callie and I looked at each other and burst into laughter, remembering some of Moose and Roger’s – and yes, at times, even Kirk’s – crude interpretations of “to thine own self be true.”

Callie caught her breath, wiped away tears of mirth and said, “Remember that day I was practicing for cheerleading tryouts and Rog sidled up to me and muttered out the side of his mouth, ‘will you, for God’s sake, quit showing out. You look stupid.” She fanned her face and blew away the last of her exuberance. “A true redneck interpretation of honesty.”

I nodded, understanding all too well. “What are totally honest actions? Try to define them in words, Cal. Are they feelings? No. We wouldn’t get far if we acted only on feelings”

“Yeah. There were times – when Mama’s cancer was so advanced – that I felt like running away and hiding in a cave. When she needed a bedpan, I couldn’t go on feelings.”

I went to the fridge and pulled out two fresh cans of Pepsi and brought them back. “Know what?” I handed Cal the drink.

“What?” She popped the top and took a long swill, thumped her chest and belched soundly. Some things about Cal never changed.

“You just defined love, Cal. Love isn’t a feeling. It’s a decision.”

She looked at me a long time, crunching nuts, mulling it, then gave a solid nod. “You’re right.” She got it. Just like that. Some folks never do.

Tonight, as I anticipated the thirtieth high school class reunion, I gazed at my husband, in snug peg-legged jeans, open madras shirt collar peeking from navy blue sweater’s V-neck and polished loafers. “You are one cool dude,” I said, feeling every word.

“Still glad you married me?” Kirk murmured teasingly, yet his eyes were still flat.

My next words were as mechanical as Gilley’s Broncing Bull from the eighties. “I’d marry you, anyway,” I sang June Carter-like, “I’d have your ba-a-a-bies.”

“I’d do it all over, too,” he said, kissing me carefully, so as not to smear my Hot Red Berry lipstick or mess up my carefully disarrayed hair. “You’re as pretty as you were thirty years ago. No. Prettier.”

“Thank you,” I said, playing the part, as, I was sure, he was. Heck, to quote Shakespeare, the whole world is a stage. Then I whispered, running my fingers through his still thick hair, feeling, “I’m glad you’re not one of those greasers.”

He chuckled, sounding as sexy as Clint Eastwood. “Never could stand that stuff.”

Kirk, the dream man, never came back. But, hey! For tonight, this version was no slouch. By the same token, Kirk’s dream woman, his Janeece of old, was lost to him forever. But the present facsimile could adapt to meet his ever-changing needs in her own unique way.

In that light, for the present, the scales balanced.

Anyway – I switched into the party-girl role – change keeps things interesting.

The Dixie Doo-Wop Band burst into Whole Lotta Shakin’ Going On as our small committee began welcoming class arrivals. Their middle-aged male vocalist, whose raven-dyed pompadour spilled unapologetically to center forehead, had the chameleon ability to be Jerry Lee, Elvis or Conway Twitty, depending on the song. On this one, he belted out a hoarse, desperate Jerry Lee rendition, sweaty gyration and all.

Excitement buoyed and propelled me to greet familiar, as well as unfamiliar, faces. Mine and Kirk’s truce had lightened my heart. Kirk and I hadn’t been able to attend the twentieth class reunion and so were shocked at how the years had changed all of us. Tonight, we both scurried about, making everyone feel welcome and comfortable. Every so often, Kirk would detour past me to sneak a kiss or “accidentally” rub against me. This was not unusual since, through everything, Kirk’s sexual attraction to me remained steadfast. A thing that befuddled me, at times, left me wondering how it could be so without love.

Tootsie Gilmore, a petite ex-cheerleader, now married for the second time, could have stepped from her class photo into the gymnasium tonight wearing her Chapowee Cheerleading costume, a full, flared crimson skirt and V-neck sweater over white turtleneck, with black and white saddle oxfords.

“Holy Moly, Tootsie,” I wailed, “you haven’t changed a lick!”

Her eyebrows shot up over her small tilted nose. “You have, Neecy – and I mean that as a compliment. You were always pretty, but age sets well on you, honey.”

I hugged Tootsie in everlasting gratitude as Callie, stunning in her white majorette costume and crimson-tasseled boots, grabbed her for a time of reminiscence. I gazed about me, at peers in their favorite high school attire, and felt a surge of incredible affection.

Callie rushed to clasp my hands in hers. “Last count is a hundred and ten, Neecy.” Her booted little leaps took me back to 1959 and made me laugh as I hadn’t in years. “Some of these guys haven’t been to either of the other reunions.” She chortled then and whispered, “Look at ol’ Nighthawk in his textile jacket. Not a bad fit after all this time. Lordy, Kirk hated him for rescuing him from the Grey High gang that night at our Junior-Senior Prom.” Her gaze lingered on the object of her comments longer than was usual for Callie. As if sensing detection, the handsome head turned. His gaze narrowed speculatively on Callie. Then began to glimmer.

“Wheww” I muttered, turning away, “I felt that jolt all the way across the room.” Cal merely looked thoughtful as Nighthawk sauntered in her direction.

You are My Special Angel stopped me in my tracks. Nostalgia paralyzed and had me spinning and yearning backward to our senior prom night all those years back. Tonight, I started as Kirk’s hand, with just a touch, claimed me anew. And I was in his arms and we danced cheek to cheek and my soul yearned for it to be heart to heart, as when we were innocent teens.

Over Kirk’s shoulder, I spied Callie locked in Nighthawk’s embrace, her arms encircling his neck, chin resting on his shoulder, her eyes nearly closed in sentimental rapture. I grinned at her expressive features. Her misty gaze slowly roamed the crowd as she and Nighthawk moved together to the love song.

Suddenly, her eyes rounded in shock and she halted so abruptly Nighthawk nearly tripped over her. I glanced over my shoulder to see what had snared her attention.

“Oh, Kirk,” I gasped. “It ’s Roger Denton.”

Callie rushed past us, leaving a bewildered partner in her wake as the song ended.

“Rog!” Callie shrieked and fell into his arms. Still lean, he wore his old football jersey with the big crimson C and pegged jeans. Kirk and I meandered closer to witness the reunion. Roger was, if possible, more handsome in middle age. His face, once pretty-boy, now bore character lines and shadows that defined it manly. His narrowed, gentle assessment of Callie’s tearful face moved him further into mellowed humanity. After their divorce, he’d been stationed in exotic places all over the world. Callie, eventually, lost all touch with him. Last account, he’d not remarried.

Arm in arm, they moved to a quiet corner to catch up. I sighed, blinked back tears and gazed up at Kirk, whose unreadable gaze searched my features. “Tender-hearted Neecy,” he murmured. After a moment, I decided it was not an unfavorable observance.

I snuffled hugely and delicately blotted beneath my eyes. “Is my mascara smeared?” I whispered, wishing I’d not revealed my insecurity to him. Kirk assured me it wasn’t.

The band struck up That Old Time Rock and Roll. “You game?” Kirk asked.

“Why not?” I took his hand and we ventured into a not-soswift shag that had us laughing like doofuses until out of breath. “Whew,” I groaned, “age is telling on me.”

“How many of you have still got the stuff?” roared the emcee’s voice over the intercom. “Time for our shag contest. Winners get the two hundred-dollar jackpot! Contest begins in ten minutes. So guys, go grab your gals and get ready to show us your stuff.”

Kirk and I peered at each other. I wiggled my nose and we burst into laughter. One thing we agreed on: our dancing would win no prizes.

“Hey!” I gazed around the gym. “Where’s Cal. She wanted to enter this. She and Nighthawk didn’t do too badly.” I ignored Kirk’s dark reaction to the name and began searching. Five futile minutes later, we met at the entrance.

“You stay right here,” Kirk insisted. “I’ll scout around.”

I glanced at the big wall clock. Only three minutes left until deadline. During that time, the Dixie Doo-Wop Band played Rebel Rouser.

The entrance door burst open. Kirk grabbed my arm and pulled me through it.

“Kirk!” I dug in, irritated at the heavy-handedness of it. “What – ”

His fingers dug into my wrists and I noticed his stunned expression. “Neecy, you won’t believe it.” He tugged me outside, away from air-conditioning into the sultry May night where crickets sang, nearly tripping me over something on the lawn shortcut to the rear of the school gym.

Around the corner we careened and nearly collided with three dark silhouettes hovering in the shadows of the brick structure. Kirk brought me to an abrupt halt.

“Neecy.” Callie, silver-gilded by a distant nightlight, gazed at me with a strange expression on her face. Roger, somber as a handsome movie-Mafia character, shifted closer to her and I noticed a supportive arm go around her waist.

Then my gaze slashed to the other dark, bigger, rounder shape. The shadow moved and the movement took my breath as my vision acclimatized to darkness and the features began to take form. “Neecy?” it said, the voice so familiar my head spun.

“Oh, my God.” My hands slapped my cheeks. Goosebumps rose up on my chilled flesh. I felt Kirk’s arms slip around me from behind, supporting me as my legs began to give way. “It can’t be!”

“’Fraid so, Neecy,” the specter said, moving to within breathing distance of me to reveal a goofy grin and half-mooned eyes –

“Oh Lord,” I moaned. “Moose.” I burst into tears and heard Callie join me as I squalled like a baby.

A big hand gently reached out to pat my arm. “Lordy, Neecy,” Moose muttered, “didn’t mean to scare you so bad.” His large shoulders gave a frumpy shrug. “I s’pose ‘shock’ is a better word.”

Callie and I finally wound down to snuffling and gaping at Moose as though he’d grown three heads. “W-why are we standing out here in the dark?” I asked in a shrill voice.

“Cause I felt kinda funny ‘bout just showing up – y’know, a’ter all the worrying I put ya’ll through an’ all.”

Moose shifted his bulk, now at least thirty pounds heavier than the last time we’d seen him. “Thang is – I’m back.” The shoulders lifted, then fell limply. “I’m tired a’runnin’.”

“Running?” Kirk tensed. “Those drug people were arrested and – ”

“Yeah. I know.” Moose’s voice sounded dead. “Only I just found out from Roger.”

Kirk frowned and stepped toward Moose. “How’d you and Roger connect?”

Rog spoke for the first time. “I ran into him in San Diego about six months ago, while I was on a business trip. We got each other’s addresses and kept in touch. When I read about the class reunion in our local newspaper – I always bought one at the corner newsstand – I phoned Moose about it. When Moose explained his precarious situation, I convinced him to come out of hiding.”

Suddenly, joy caught up to us and we began to laugh and hug Moose and bawl like three-year-olds, even Kirk had misty eyes.

Like the old Dead End Kids, we entered the gymnasium punching and poking and laughing together as though no world existed beyond us. Then some others spotted Moose and kidnapped him to catch up on the years.

My gaze sought out Callie and Roger, who, again, pulled aside to talk quietly, soberly. I resisted running to her, even as everything in me ached to commiserate with her over Moose’s lost years, afraid of interrupting whatever she and Rog had going. Few had been Cal’s references to Rog through the years but each carried regrets.

After that, the rest of the evening was anti-climactic. Kirk retreated into a world of glacial silence and brooding features. Oh, he asked me to dance to the slow songs. But his mind definitely simmered to other directions.

“What’s wrong, Kirk?” I whispered during one dance.

He raised his splendid head – more handsome tonight than ever – his eyes grazing my features as though hunting down a microscopic intruder to exterminate. Finding none, his gaze softened. “It’s just – Moose’s showing up...everything is so danged unbelievable.” He sighed and pulled me back into his close embrace, shuffling his feet in time with Connie Francis singing about “Where the Boys are.”

“Isn’t it?” I pressed my nose to Kirk’s neck and inhaled his Halston scent. “How in the world did Moose manage it – keeping his whereabouts from everybody all these years?”

“I don’t know. But I’m going to find out.” Kirk’s quiet reply was edged in steel.

My head whipped up. “You aren’t angry with Moose, are you?” Though, in all honesty, I was beginning to feel the first stirrings of anger myself. Moose could have let us know he was all right even if he’d wanted to keep his whereabouts unknown. I just didn’t want Kirk to light into our friend on his first night back.

Kirk’s gaze moved beyond me, grew far off. “I don’t know how I feel. I’ve gotta think about things for a while.”

We – our gang – managed to migrate back into the remainder of the evening’s festivities, determined not to let fate cheat us out of one more moment in time. Kirk and I braved the medley of old dances, including the Stroll, the Twist, Hand Jive, Shag and regular old Jitterbug.

My husband and I muddled through the Stroll, but during the Twist, I did a fancy pivot away and slowly twitched my way around to find myself stranded on the dance floor. Hands on hips, I cast Callie, now grinding her feet into the polished floor with Rog, a disgusted oh well! look and dropped out.

“Why’d you just disappear?” I sniped at Kirk, irritated at his embarrassing vanishing act.

“Hmm? Oh – I didn’t know how to do that dance,” he said absently. “You know I’ve got two left feet.” Did I ever? He’d not even taken umbrage at my nagging tone. Amazing. I watched him aimlessly wander off, his gaze faraway. Remote. Troubled. Alarm took hold of me.

Moose’s old textile cronies kept him captive while Callie and Roger remained absorbed in each other, now touching even when not dancing together. Not sexual, just gentle gestures, a touch and light caress on the arm that ended in laced fingers or a finger brushing a stray hair into place.

At one a.m., the band shut down. Classmates’ goodnights were reluctant and warm and nightcapped with “let’s stay in touch.” A few tears punctuated parting affections, as well as loud guffaws and raucous teasing. All served to bond us together and to this night of unforgettable memories.

By the time we got to Callie’s house for one last cup of coffee together, dawn was blowing away the last of the stars from the sky. Moose had grown quiet. It was not, I suspected, that he was sleepy. Though he should have been after the long, celebratory, emotion-charged night. He seemed keyed up. Kirk, sitting next to me on the sofa, had gotten his second wind, and now watched our resurrected friend as we all lounged barefoot in Cal’s den. Callie and Rog lolled cozily on the love seat. Longing – to have Kirk that blindly in love with me again – dropped heavily on me.

Suddenly, Moose pushed up to the edge of the easy chair he dwarfed, planted his elbows on thighs and clasped his hands between knees. “I learned about Roxie gettin’ killed from my stepma. I kept in touch with Pearly ‘cause I knew she wouldn’t let nobody know where I was. Them drug people was a’ter me like crazy.” He shook his head and his eyes moistned. “I didn’t think they’d go a’ter Roxie.” He swallowed a couple of times and twisted his hands together. “When I found out – I went crazy for a while. Blamed myself, y’know?”

“She made peace with God before it happened, Moose,” I said, hoping to console him.

He blinked a couple of times, swiped his wet cheeks with the back of his hand and nodded. Then his eyes half-mooned, and I knew he’d put it behind him.

He began to speak like the old Moose. “I went to Solomon last week – before I come here for the reunion. I didn’t know ya’ll had moved back up this way, Kirk.” His eyes glimmered like he knew some secret joke. “Anyways, guess who I run into at the church when I visited the pastor’s office there?”

“Who?” Cal asked, curious as blazes, coming to the edge of her seat.

“Ol’ Sarah Beauregard.” Moose yuk-yukked. “Know what she said, right there in the vestibule? Said ‘guess you know what that no-good preacher done after you left, don’t you?’ I says, ‘Naw, can’t say as I do.’” He yuk-yukked like crazy, slapping his knee, not noticing Cal’s stricken look nor how Kirk had tensed up and now gripped my hand in a bone-crushing strangle-hold.

When Moose got his breath, he gasped, “That crazy woman says, ‘he shore stabbed you in the back, man. Fooled around with Roxie is what he done. That’s why he hightailed it outta Solomon, doncha know?’ I told her, ‘You’re crazy, woman.’” He laughed until tears filled his eyes and ran down his cheeks.

“Ouch, Kirk,” I muttered through my teeth, “that hurts.” He abruptly released my white fingers and I flexed them to regain circulation.

Suddenly, Moose noted the silence. His face slackened and for the first time, I noticed his eyes were a hazel color. “Ya’ll don’t find that funny?” he asked, bewildered. “Couldn’t wait to tell that on the crazy ol’ – ” He fell silent. His gaze narrowed on Kirk, whose features were shuttered. “It is just talk, ain’t it Kirk?” he croaked, rising unsteadily to his feet.

When Kirk remained silent, Moose’s gaze swung to Cal. “Ain’t it, Cal? Just talk is all, ain’t it?”

Cal flinched. She licked her lips and opened them to speak. Then shut them.

Kirk rose and went to him, put his hands on Moose’s shoulders. “Moose, we’ve been friends for a long time. You know how I feel about you.”

Moose stood there, looking as though he’d been shot with a stun gun. “Is it true?” Moose peered at Kirk and I heard in his voice the plea tell me it isn’t so.

Kirk’s level gaze held such pain I felt my breath hitch. “Yes.” My husband’s hands dropped limply from Moose’s heavy upper arms.

“Oh, God,” Moose wailed and his head fell back as he sloughed heavily in a circle, clutching his temples. I heard Cal’s weeping as I snuffled back myriad emotions, the foremost being grief that the ugliness was resurrected. “I ain’t got nothin’ left,” Moose moaned and stopped, his mighty limbs and head dangling as loose as Spanish moss in the wind. “Nothing.”

“Oh, Moose,” I rushed to throw my arms around him. “Please don’t say that. You still have us.” Moose stood like an uprooted dead oak, waiting to topple.

My heart pounded like Dezi Arnaz’s bongos.

Moose pulled loose of me then took hold of Kirk’s shirt and pulled him up till their noses nearly touched. “You encouraged me to disappear, Kirk. Said I could be killed by the drug people. We felt that with me gone, Roxie’d be safer. Remember?” He spoke through clenched teeth, shaking Kirk, who stood like a Raggedy Andy, loose and expressionless. But I saw the pain in his eyes.

Moose released Kirk so violently, Kirk nearly stumbled. Moose’s great body heaved with sobs. “Did you just do it to get me outta the picture?”

Kirk sprang to life, touching Moose’s quavering shoulder. “God, no! I knew those people would kill you, that’s the reason I encouraged you to leave. I truly didn’t think Roxie – ”

“Why?” Moose wailed. “My best friend. ...” His body commenced trembling again and his teeth chattering.

“Take it easy, pal,” Kirk put out a steadying hand.

“Naw. Not pal.” Moose’s head swiveled so forcefully and he glared at Kirk so fiercely that a sob caught in my throat. “Not anymore, Kirk.”

Moose turned and like a zombie, sloughed his way from the room. From our hearts.

Kirk had lost his best friend. Again.