It's the first day of pre-school and she might be unwisely dressed for playtime. (Do remember that her mother is Southern and little girls in that region wear these clothes everywhere.) In about a week, she's a drop-out. A minor cold, caught from a classmate, causes her dad to reconsider early education. She is too young for this exposure or maybe it is we who aren't ready. Besides, she already knows how to read and her social skills simply require a bit of finesse.
Twenty-five years later, the fashionista flourishes and she's spent considerable time pondering the outfit for her high school class reunion. The decade disappeared so quickly and brought such changes. New crucial people joined her life's journey. Decisions, often exceedingly brave ones, insure that her spirit remains visible and vibrant.
Near the end of her senior year, we realize that Caitlin will not tolerate traditional closure. Her senior photo features a dark-haired young lady snuggled in a cranberry corduroy coat. She's standing in a field of crimson tulips north of Seattle. Printed announcements proclaim her admittance to UC Santa Cruz, not the date and time of a ceremony. No need to acknowledge that event as she won't be in the audience. We're somewhat surprised, maybe disappointed that graduation isn't a given, but it is her life. We've fostered a fierce independence in our progeny and watched as this characteristic manifests itself.
Caitlin's ready to leave her town, her classmates, her parents. Santa Cruz lures with its promise of unfettered freedom. We believe she'll return but know she won't stay.
Always living on adrenalin that few people possess, Caitlin scrunches the PSHS reunion into a regular week-end. Leaving Portland much later than scheduled erodes an already short night. Ontario isn't home and the I-10 is unappealing as the clock moves past midnight and her rental car careens toward the desert.
We parents, whose energy is adequate but not excessive, are asleep when the threesome arrive. We hear nothing and simply assume in our slumber that the bedrooms will be occupied when we awake. They are. On the counter, in testament to temporary residents, is an empty wine bottle. Hanging prettily from the cabinet door pulls are two faultless frocks. Above them, the young lady owners have kindly left notes. Instructions for ironing. I'm the designated destroyer of wrinkles and other imperfections. A mom's expertise, greatly needed on this special occasion.
Even with too little sleep, the sun can't be ignored. It's a primary reason for the visit. Chaises allow for good exposure as reading material is scanned. Bobby hones his photography skills, snapping girl photos as well as backyard scenes. Caitlin and close friend, Alex, succumb to rays too rarely seen in Portland and Seattle.
Six-year-old neighbors join the sun brigade and demonstrate their affinity for cool pool water by repeatedly jumping from the diving board. I know Caitlin's remembering her own diving tutelage and now she's ready to impart that knowledge. Hanna and Jessy listen lazily. Form is not their focus. They'd rather squirt Caitlin. She complies after admonishing them to avoid her hair. It's awaiting the unveiling at the reunion and can't be tarnished.
With her inherent ability to plan and execute, Caitlin has incorporated all her favorite desert activities into the miniscule visit. Unturkey sandwiches as part of a floor picnic shortly after arriving were the culinary reward for a 21 hour day. By afternoon she's ready for her Cactusberry fix. A tiny shop in The Plaza dispenses quirky frozen yogurt with aplomb. She's a convert, as is Bobby.
Dinner has been decided. Las Casuelas take-out. Sitting in a restaurant is too stressful this day. Henry will have a turkey sub and watch the rest of us enjoy the flavorful Mexican food. In the luckiest of coincidences, Bobby's parents, Mike and Jackie, are also in town. The table will seat seven, including Alex.
We're celebrating an early birthday for Henry. The cake has been hidden next door. Store bought, I feel a bit guilty that it isn't homemade. One bite and I relax. Ralph's bakes so much better than I do. The house is humming with familiar voices. Candles, not nearly as many as warranted, threaten to melt the frosting.
I realize that excitement and anxiety are coursing through Caitlin's mind and body. She's ebullient, smiling constantly. For months she's declared that this will be her Janis Joplin moment. I've remarked that her high school experience was much better than that of the storied songstress.
Perhaps she has something to prove. People attend high school reunions for a myriad of reasons. They stay away for equally as many. Justifiably, Caitlin's very proud of the decade she's lived. Self-confident, radiantly beautiful, married to a stellar guy, and utilizing her writing prowess for a livelihood as well as a life-affirming avocation, she's the whole package. There's the added cachet that of all her classmates, she received the first bachelor's degree.
During the intervening years, she's perfected her tact, honed her compassion, and demonstrated a reservoir of courage. Friends abound and relatives are becoming even more dear than in the past. Words whirl in her fertile brain and pour onto pages, generally electronic. Palm Springs has grown in stature as the miles between her hometown and her home have lengthened. Even her parents seem to have improved a bit.
She's ready to sashay into the reunion at the Riveria with some swagger and a sense of satisfaction at who she's become. Her classmates knew the incubating Caitlin. They may not recognize this version but they will definitely want to know her better.
Like the days of early high school, we are driving the kids to an event. This time it's because of the lack of parking at the hotel. They'll find a way home or get a taxi. We say to call us and we know they won't.
Back home, we wonder about her reception and whether her particular concept of this homecoming is actually unfolding. In the morning, we see the shoes. They look spent but happy. So, evidently, is their owner.
During my pregnancy, I harbored a powerful wish. I wanted a window on my tummy. Just a look now and then at the person residing inside. As the months passed, I accepted that there was an invisible sign on that space. It read, "No peeking." Therefore, I imagined her face and her future without looking. Now I can see both.
I've often maintained that for some, high school is as good as it gets. Those people seem to reach their life's potential by graduation and are never able to attain that pinnacle again. For Caitlin, we know there's been no peaking. She's ever ascending and we're watching, proudly.
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