Destination Unknown, by Caroline

I’ve been avoiding completing the “How Have You Been?” questionnaire for the class of 1986 reunion for weeks. I keep looking at the form that the reunion staff sent out, realizing I’d love to hear updates on my classmates, but unsure what my update should say. I don’t know where I thought I would be 20 years after graduation, but to be honest, I didn’t think it would be here. I eagerly visit the blog site nightly (got an idea about my life so far?) and see my classmates with their mates and their children. Everyone is beautiful, has great spouses and wonderful children, and has sent in great photos documenting how wonderful their life is now.

I feel like somehow I’m back in high school and am in competition with my classmates for “who has the best life.” I’ve been thinking since this whole reunion thing came up that I should have more, have done more, and somehow be more than I am today. I mentioned my fears to a friend of mine (of 18 years) and asked her how should I answer the questions? I asked her should I tell the whole unvarnished truth or somehow lie to fit the ideal that I think I should be living? She laughed at me and said, “You are the most truthful person I know, about the good, the bad, and the ugly.” She went on to say that my accomplishment in the last 20 years is that I had survived. I thought about that and the fact that I am a pretty upfront person and decided she was right.

So here it goes: First of all, let me start by saying that while I loved my time at SHS, my school experience was a little different from my classmates simply due to the fact that my mom was “Mamma B” to more than half of the seniors each year. Having your mom as a teacher where you attend limits your dates for dances and social events because it is correctly assumed you won’t put out after the dance. That being said, I did have a blast and have many fond memories of the guys who broke up with me just before a major dance. This is of course the reason that Kris will never be able to post a picture of me at Sadie Hawkins, Saga, or prom.

I digress. After leaving Slidell High School at the beginning of senior year, my family moved to Baton Rouge, where I graduated from Woodlawn High School (known in the circles as “Weedlawn”). I’m pretty sure my parents would never have made the decision to move me during my senior year if they knew how much I’d rebel. After graduation, I went to SLU in Hammond (because who wants to go to college in the same town their parents live in?). I roomed with Cara Starnes for one year (I’m sure she’s grateful it wasn’t more; our friendship might not have survived), and then my family was transferred to Memphis, Tennessee. I started my sophomore year at University of Tennessee Martin (my dad’s alma mater) and after smoking way too much pot, I realized I’d better drop out of school, or I’d end up dead (the pot was really great in west Tennessee).

I went to work in Memphis and promptly fell in love with the owner of the company, had a tumultuous affair, broke it off, and quit my job. In the meantime, my mother was diagnosed with breast cancer. She was sick for two years, during which time I worked full-time, went back to school part-time, stayed every night at the hospital, took mom to chemo and radiation, and slowly watched her die. While it was definitely a challenging time, I learned an awful lot about myself, my mom, and my family as a unit.

A year later, in a twisted search for love, I married my first husband (who happened to be the half-brother of the man I had worked for). Our marriage lasted two years, during which time I went back to school full-time in order to avoid his verbal and physical abuse. I would leave the house at 5:30 a.m. and not return until after midnight. On our two-year anniversary, he moved out of the house and in with his mother (he always was a mamma’s boy).

My divorce was final in November and in another sick, twisted attempt to find love, I married my second husband in May. I quickly realized (within a month) that although they were packaged differently, I’d married the same man once again. I threw myself in to my sales job, made lots of money, had great numbers, and landed a “dream” job in pharmaceutical sales. Of course, the job was in Knoxville and my husband and I were living in Chattanooga.

I did the only thing I could; I took the job and left his sorry, wife-abusing tail behind. I quickly went in therapy because obviously I was picking the wrong type of man. After almost three years of marriage, the divorce was final, and I was single again. I’d never been happier in my life.

[Editor’s note: Caroline’s story continues here on Wednesday. From the right, this picture shows Lane; Lane’s sister, Robyn; and Caroline herself. She wrote that they were at “Spark’s Steakhouse in Manhattan, August 2005 (the calm before the storm, Saturday night before Katrina). We all had to scramble to get earlier flights in order to get ready for the storm, families evacuating, and all the fun.”]