51: The Eyes Have It

She’d been a writer
since discovering the written word in first grade,
so it’s no wonder she sat in a corner at their twentieth reunion,
watching her former classmates and
sketching them in lines and words. . .

One gal had a bad cold which kinda’ made her look like a clown.
About all she could mutter intelligibly was “Oh”,
so she sounded constantly surprised.
Or sad, depending.

JoeBob sought her out
and apologized
for having stood her up the night of their Senior Prom.
It may have been twenty years ago,
but Cleotia still didn’t believe a single word he said.

While some people needed name tags to recognize former classmates,
everybody recognized Bernice immediately
because the years hadn’t reduced the size
or placement
of her eyes.
Not one little bit.

In the some-stereotypes-never-change department,
the captain of the cheerleading squad
spent the entire night giving flirty eyes
to the captain of the football team.

The older he got,
the more he looked like Groucho Marx.
Everybody said so.

While other folks went off to college,
Peony stayed home and became a Lounge Lizard.

Even though Diotra spent the better part of every hour
trying to convince Dilbo that he,
the man she came to the reunion with
not the fourth grade fella
who’d helped her craft that flour and water map of Italy,
was the true love of her life,
he remained steadfastly mad and unconvinced.

Flossie Belle took home the Most Unchanged ribbon
for the way she still reminded everybody
of the school mascot:
of a rarified one-eyed beaked
ornamonfagnothingazimbo.

The years had not been kind to Hybrid.
Neither was that fascinator she wore perched up on her head.

Twinkle Towez may have had the eyes and the stutter of an owl,
possibly even the night vision,
but when she opened her mouth and started talking,
it became glaringly obvious that
the owl analogy stopped there.

Those unfortunate close-set squinty eyes,
gave everybody the impression that Leotia had trust issues.
Or allergies.

A couple of girls from the Glee Club
sat in the corner and cried all night
at the inevitable conclusion
that their lives had peaked in seventh grade.

The accident left Pet R. Fried with
a swollen, stitched-up right eye,
a blackened left eye,
a mouth sewn shut,
a chin that would need several more surgeries to take in the slack,
and the in-and-out ports on his chest.
But you had to give him bonus points
for donning a tie
and coming to the reunion anyway.

Su Songbird had this way of looking right through you.
It was unnerving, really.

Jim Beamtofroid was up drinking all night the night before,
and it kinda’ showed.

One cup of punch,
and LizaMae was snoring over her cheese straws.

Bette wished
she could’ve gotten in that class
on how to draw better eyebrows
before the reunion.
Her classmates did, too.

When Junior got to drinking,
he looked a whole lot less like Clark Gable
and a whole lot more like Captain Hook in a jester’s hat.

~~~~~~~

In Our Own Language 4:17

And if I haven’t worn your imagination slap out,
tell me what (if anything)
you see in this stitched version of Nancy’s drawing.
Nancy (my developmentally disabled sister-in-law) draws.
I (the woman who flat-out loves her) stitch her drawings.

~~~~~~~

The Daily Dahlia

~~~~~~~

Thank you for joining me on my story quest.
To see more of the Daily Dahlias, join me on Facebook or Instagram.
And if you want to keep up with these 100 Stories in 100 Days
or my stitchings,
just mash the black “right this way” button in the orange bar
at the top of the screen and follow the directions.