On a Tuesday (One Week 1)

“I’m just really late and I don’t want to miss my college-class reunion. Or the fireworks. They promised fireworks.”

He gave me a blank stare. Then he looked up at the sky.

“Fireworks?” He took his ticket pad from his back pocket and shook his head. “In the snow? And a college-class reunion on a Tuesday? Okay, Miss.”

“No, please.” I couldn’t afford another speeding ticket right now. I still owed the State of New York one thousand on a ticket I’d received last month. I leaned over and opened my glove compartment, pulling out a blue and gold envelope that I’d received months ago.

“I’m not making the reunion up,” I said, handing the invitation to him.

He mumbled the printed words out loud to himself, and I realized that I’d memorized every word on that page within minutes of it arriving in my mailbox.

Hail to Pitt!

As a member of the BEST class that has ever graduated from the University of Pittsburgh, we cordially invite you to a Night to Remember! Our seven-year class reunion! (Yes, ‘seven,' because it didn't take us ten to net four Pulitzer prize winners, twenty-eight Fulton Scholars, fifteen Olympic athletes, and hundreds of other distinguished honors that set our class far apart from the rest!)

The official date & time, ticket & fireworks information, & location are inside!

We hope to see you there, Charlotte!

And as always,

Hail to Pitt!

HE SIGHED AND RETURNED the invitation to me. “Tell you what, Miss Charlotte. I’m going to let you off with a severe warning today, but only because I went to Pitt, too.” He placed his ticket pad in his back pocket once more. “But because I don’t trust you to drive the speed limit the rest of the way, I’ll follow you.”

I didn't get a chance to say, "Oh, that's okay," or "That's not really necessary" before he stepped away. And I knew telling him the truth—that I wasn't planning on going to this reunion at all, that I was planning to get off at the next exit and drive back to New York City, wasn't the best thing to do now.

Sighing, I tossed the invitation onto the seat and turned on my radio.

“Start driving!” He called out over his car’s speakers. “And move to the actual highway lanes!”

I steered my car onto the real part of the highway and set the cruise control to exactly sixty-five miles an hour. My heart was pounding against my chest and my palms were sweating against the steering wheel.

Just go in, take a few pictures, and leave right after the cop goes away.

I’d gone back and forth about this reunion for a long time—writing out the pros and cons, even making spreadsheets for all the possible scenarios that could happen. Each time the pros outnumbered the cons, but I was never happy with that result, so I always tried another tracking method, hoping for a negative.

I also wasn’t sure whose bright idea it was to host the reunion on a Tuesday, but that counted as strike one in my book. Strike two was the one-hundred-dollar ticket fee for a ‘gourmet’ menu of popcorn and local chocolates. Strike three should’ve been the “seven-year” time-stamp instead of the usual, ten-year one, but even I knew that our class was full of overachievers and record-setters the second my freshman year began.

I didn’t even know who would be attending tonight, since all the “close friends” I’d once made had drifted away long ago. Every now and then I’d catch glimpses of their lives through my Facebook newsfeed—clicking “like” or “love” in exchange for a phone call or a “How have you been?” text message. Occasionally, I’d even comment: “Your kids are adorable!” “Merry Christmas!” “Happy New Year! PS—Your kids are adorable!”

There was only one person I knew I couldn’t bear to see again, and I was hoping like hell he wouldn’t be there tonight.

Please don’t be there tonight.

Ten minutes later, I pulled my car through the university's campus—noticing that it looked completely different from seven years ago. Everything was more modern, and where there was once a block full of student unions, there was now a series of gray, steel cafés. The only thing that seemed to be the same was the Cathedral of Learning—the massive beige monolith that towered over every building on campus.

I circled the parking lot a few times, passing by a few empty spots in hopes that the officer would stop following me and I could bypass this thing after all.

“Park your car!” He yelled over the speakers and I pulled my car into a space right out front.

Is he really going to watch me go inside?

I turned off my engine and grabbed my nude heels from the backseat. I slipped them onto my feet and pulled out my compact to re-check my make-up. As I added a new coat of red gloss to my lips, I spotted the officer in my rearview mirror. He was tapping his watch and daring me to take any more time.