Second Helpings - Brandon Witt Page 0,1

else would it be?” He gave a toothy grin.

Right, who else would it be? I might not know him, but everyone would know me. Even from behind. Even though I’d put on over forty pounds of muscle over the last two decades.

“I can’t believe you’re here! This is the first reunion you’ve shown up to.” He chuckled and gave an eye roll. “Of course nobody besides me, Brenda, and Gerald showed up to the five year. But the ten and fifteen were pretty big.” He made a sweeping gesture. “Nothing compared to this. Which is why I went all-out. Just like prom, remember?”

At that moment “Waterfalls” faded away, thank God. “Oh, I remember. Looks like you nailed it to the last detail.”

Whoever he was, he beamed in pure pride.

Who was he? I’d prepared for this. I’d gone through that damn yearbook like it had been scripture. I’d memorized every one of my seventy-six classmates. Everyone would know me, and I wasn’t going to be that guy, the one who moved away and couldn’t remember anyone he’d spent his entire childhood with.

The man’s smile faltered finally. “You don’t remember who I am, do you?”

“I’m sorry, I don’t. You kinda sound familiar.”

His beaming was back. “Brian Jeffreys!”

I mentally turned the pages of the yearbook. Brian… Brian. “Oh my God! Brian?” The words blurted out before I had a chance to adjust my surprise, or the judgment in them.

He patted his belly and then his head. “Yep. Brian. No more red hair, or hair at all. And the belly is new, well, not really, but it wasn’t there twenty years ago.” He patted it again.

“Well, you look…” I had no idea how to finish that sentence, but my attention was caught again. Surely not. “You really like that song, don’t you?”

Brian didn’t have to listen to know which song was playing. “It’s on repeat. It will be like the king-and-queen dance all night long.” He grabbed my triceps again and with a surprising show of strength pulled me forward. “Come in. I won’t introduce you to everyone. They’ll know the Isaac Reynolds, but if you get stumped, just seek me out. I’ll whisper anyone else’s name you don’t remember and maybe some juicy tidbits about them as well, if I’ve any to share.” He practically launched me into the main room. “Oh, and the potluck is over by the west wall. It’s okay that you didn’t bring anything.”

Potluck? They were having a potluck? If that had been on the invitation, I for sure didn’t notice. If I had, no midlife crisis would’ve been enough to make me darken the door.

At that moment there was a loud squeal and the clatter of a solo cup before the blond and fuzzy woman who’d been my date all those years ago launched herself into my arms.

The next hour was lost to more squeals, hugs, handshakes, and slaps on the back than I’d ever received in such a short time. So many that my skin tingled from the constant contact. The sensation helped in drowning out “Waterfalls” from actually registering—though I’d never be able to listen to that song again. Maybe nothing from TLC for the rest of my life, while we were at it.

If I was being honest, the entire thing was better than I’d feared. The attention seemed genuinely kind, and thanks to my public Facebook profile, everyone who spoke to me already knew what I’d been up to the past twenty years. We skipped right over the how have things been going and moved directly into another set of cliché questions.

Is New York really like it is in the movies?

Does food photography pay the bills?

Are New York apartments actually as small and expensive as they say?

Bet you don’t miss small-town life, do ya?

I saw you also do fashion photography… does that mean you date models?

You ready to move back home yet?

Can you get me tickets to something on Broadway?

Sorry about your breakup, but that was, what, two years ago? You dating anyone famous?

Those were the questions that blew me out of the water. The ones I hadn’t expected at all, despite how friendly people had seemed on Facebook. I’d been deep in the closet when I left El Dorado Springs. But social media had paved the way for me not to have to answer a single question about whether I had a wife and kids. I’d been prepared for that, actually, but not for people to seem okay with it. I’d hoped maybe they’d