Revisiting the Past: Two Sequences from the Coda of Reunion: Coda
Returning home is rarely a simple act. It carries the weight of memory—both cherished and bittersweet—and forces a confrontation between who we were and who we’ve become.
In Reunion: Coda, Jim Garraty’s journey back to Miami is more than a physical return; it’s a quiet reckoning with nostalgia, loss, and the unexpected comfort of old friendships. These two sequences from the novel’s coda capture that emotional terrain—first through a visit to a beloved local institution, and then through a deeper plunge into the past, leading Jim back to the front steps of South Miami Senior High.
The first scene unfolds at Arbetter’s, a modest but iconic Miami eatery where the smell of grilled hot dogs and chili fries acts as a time machine, pulling Jim back to high school days. It’s an effortless blend of familiarity and humor as Maddie, new to the city’s traditions, bravely tackles the Monster—a legendary chili-loaded foot-long hot dog—while Jim and Mark exchange teasing jabs and quiet reflections on the past.
But the nostalgia doesn’t end at lunch. In the second sequence, the road leads Jim, Mark, and Maddie toward an even deeper memory—South Miami Senior High, the school that shaped so much of Jim’s early life. It’s an external relic of his past, unchanged in its yellow bulk and fluttering flags, yet stirring emotions that are anything but static. What follows is a moment of quiet reflection, of reckoning with the ghosts of friendships lost and memories still vivid, as Jim stands before Cobra Country, humming the Imperial March as he did as a teenager—steeling himself for the past, even now.
Together, these two sequences bring the coda of Reunion: Coda to life, showcasing Jim’s gradual reconnection with the city that made him. And through nostalgia, humor, and unspoken emotions, they highlight the heart of the novel—how memory intertwines with the present and how, sometimes, returning home is less about place and more about the people we carry with us.
Chili Dogs and Memories
Miami, Florida
Late Morning/Midday, June 14, 2000
The air outside feels unmistakably Miami—heavy, humid, and alive with the faint tang of salt drifting in from the coast. Mark leads the way to his Lexus ES 300, the Nakatomi sign still clutched in his hand like a trophy. “You’re keeping that?” I say, watching him toss it onto the backseat.
“Absolutely,” he says. “This baby’s going in my office.”
Maddie walks alongside me, chuckling softly. “Well, it’s certainly memorable,” she says, her voice laced with amusement.
Mark turns, his grin spreading wider. “Maddie, I think you’re going to fit in just fine.”
She smiles, her eyes flicking to mine briefly before she slides into the backseat. Relief washes over me—Mark can be a bit much, but Maddie takes his antics in stride.
The car is warm, the leather seats still retaining the midday heat. I settle into the passenger seat while Maddie adjusts in the back, and Mark starts the engine with practiced ease. The low hum merges with the city’s rhythm as we pull away, leaving the chaos of arrivals behind.
“So,” Mark begins, one hand resting lazily on the wheel. “Where to first? I’ve got the whole day off. You’re in charge, Professor Garraty.”
I don’t hesitate. “Arbetter’s.”
Mark lets out a low whistle. “Solid choice. Maddie, you ever been?”
“Not yet,” she says, leaning forward, curiosity sparking in her tone. “I lived here for a while, but I never made it there. Always meant to.”
“Well,” Mark says with a decisive nod, “we’re fixing that right now. No one leaves Miami without trying Arbetter’s. It’s practically law.”
The car glides through familiar streets—towering palms sway lazily in the breeze, and strip malls, school zones, and pastel houses glow under the midday sun. I lean back, letting the sights wash over me. It’s been too long since I’ve been here, but it still feels like home in its strange, disjointed way. Like stepping back into a chapter of a book you thought you’d finished reading.
Mark and Maddie strike up a conversation, their voices blending seamlessly into the hum of the engine. She asks about the neighborhoods we pass, and Mark answers with that easy charm, peppering explanations with jokes and stories. I stay mostly quiet, content to listen as they connect. It’s a rare thing, watching two parts of your life come together so smoothly.
Mark glances over at me, his eyes glinting with mischief. “So, Jim, how’d you two meet, anyway? I want the full story.”
I chuckle softly, shaking my head. “Mark, we’ve talked about this back in March. But I know how you sometimes need a reminder.”
I glance back at Maddie, and she gives me a small, knowing smile. “The Moonglow,” I say. “Brooklyn. February.”
Mark raises an eyebrow. “The Moonglow? That sounds like a story.”
“It’s noisy there,” Maddie says, her voice soft, deliberate, like she’s setting the scene. “Very… atmospheric.”
“Yeah,” I say, my thoughts already drifting back to that night. “It’s one of those places where you can’t hear yourself think, but somehow you don’t mind.”
*
Arbetter’s is not a sprawling, upscale restaurant like Delmonico’s in New York City. There’s no maître d’, no crisp white tablecloths, and certainly no dress code—unless you count the handwritten sign near the door that reads, “No shoes, no shirt, no service.” It’s exactly the way I remember it: modest, unpretentious, and buzzing with life. The smell of grilled hot dogs and frying potatoes hits me before we even step through the door—a heady mixture that feels like a time machine straight back to my high school days.
The place is packed, just like it was back in the 1980s. High school and college kids crowd around the cramped tables, laughing over piles of chili fries, while a few old-timers occupy the booths along the back wall, quietly enjoying their meals like they’ve been here every day for decades. The roar of conversation mingles with the clatter of trays and the sizzle of the kitchen, creating an atmosphere that’s chaotic but comforting.
Mark grins as we step inside, clearly in his element. “Takes you back, doesn’t it?” he says, nudging me with his elbow.
“It’s like stepping into a Polaroid,” I reply, scanning the room. Nothing’s changed—not even the slightly crooked menu board above the counter.
Maddie looks around with wide-eyed curiosity. “What do you two recommend?” she asks, her gaze darting from the bustling counter to the trays piled high with food.
Mark leans in conspiratorially. “Well, the chili dog and cheese fries are classics,” he says, with the authority of a seasoned regular. “But then there’s the Monster.”
“The Monster?” Maddie echoes, her brows lifting.
“It’s legendary,” I explain, unable to suppress a grin. “A foot-long hot dog, loaded with chili, cheese, and enough extras to send your cholesterol through the roof.”
Mark chuckles. “Back in high school, Jim and I made a bet—one of us would try the Monster before we hit forty. Spoiler alert: neither of us had the guts.”
Maddie’s hazel eyes flick to Mark, then back to me, glinting with amusement. “Sounds like a challenge,” she says, her voice teasing. “I think I’ll have that.”
Mark claps me on the back, letting out a laugh. “Now that’s my kind of woman!”
I shake my head, trying to hide my grin. “All right, the Monster it is,” I say, gesturing for Maddie to grab a booth while Mark and I head to the counter.
The line moves quickly, giving Mark just enough time to lean in and whisper, “Man, she’s gorgeous. And smart. And funny.”
“And she looks a bit like Marty, right?” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, low and weighted. It’s not a question as much as a thought spoken aloud, slipping out in the hum of nostalgia that this place stirs up.
Mark pauses, his grin fading just slightly. “A bit,” he admits. Then, with rare seriousness, he adds, “But Marty’s dead, and Maddie isn’t. And she obviously likes you. Dunno why, though.”
The moment lingers, brief yet profound, until Mark interrupts with a grin. “Anyway, let’s concentrate on more pressing matters—like artery-clogging chili dogs.”
I manage a small smile. “Priorities,” I say, stepping up to the counter. The guy taking orders looks to be in his thirties, moving efficiently but with an easygoing manner that matches the vibe of the place. We rattle off our requests—two chili dogs with cheese fries and drinks for Mark and me and a Monster with a Lipton iced tea for Maddie.
While we wait, Mark’s attention wanders to the cashier at the far counter—a young woman with an easy smile and a ponytail that bounces as she moves. “She reminds me of Debbie Voss,” he says suddenly, his tone wistful.
“Your prom date,” I say, smiling. “Didn’t she spill punch on you?”
“Details,” he waves off, grinning.
When the food is ready, we load the tray with our orders and make our way back to the booth. Maddie looks up as we approach, her lips quirking into an amused smile. “Took you two long enough,” she says, arching an eyebrow. “What’s the hold-up? Were you making eyes at the cashier?”
Mark doesn’t miss a beat. “Guilty as charged,” he says, sliding into the booth. “Jim’s still debating whether to ask for her number.”
I roll my eyes as I set Maddie’s Monster—look at the size of that thing!—and her iced tea in front of her. “Please, I have better taste than that.”
She takes a sip from her can of iced tea, then laughs. “Do you, though?” she teases, her tone light. “I mean, you did fall for me.”
I sit down across from her, unable to suppress my smile. “Touché,” I say, raising my Coke in a mock toast. “To good taste.”
“And to the Monster,” Mark adds, holding up his Sprite. “Here’s hoping it doesn’t send Maddie to Kendall Regional.”
For a beat, Maddie arches an eyebrow and grins. “I guess that means I’m always the brave one—since these two still haven’t dared to take a bite of that cursed dog!”
Her playful jab hangs in the air as Mark and I exchange a sheepish glance, a quiet acknowledgment of our long-standing, unfulfilled bet.
I glance at Maddie, a mischievous glint in my eye. “Brave? More like reckless. But hey, someone’s gotta test our life insurance policies!”
3
Echoes of the Past in “Cobra Country”
Mark keeps the car steady as we pull onto Southwest 87th Avenue, heading south from Bird Road toward Miller Drive. His arm rests loosely on the wheel, the radio playing oldies from the ’70s and ’80s faintly under the hum of the engine. I shift in my seat, sucking on a Brach’s mint to counteract the chili and onions lingering from lunch. Behind me, sitting in the back seat, Maddie leans forward, her elbow resting on the door, while Mark checks the rearview mirror.
I glance back at Maddie, catching the faintest smile playing at her lips. “I’ve gotta hand it to you,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ve never seen anyone conquer the Monster and live to tell the tale.”
She shrugs with mock nonchalance, but her eyes gleam with triumph. “What can I say? It’s a skill.”
“A dangerous one,” Mark interjects, shooting her a grin in the rearview mirror. “You’re lucky it didn’t fight back.”
I laugh, letting myself settle into the easy rhythm of their banter. The heaviness I secretly carried into Miami—the lingering fog of Marty’s absence—feels distant now, momentarily buried beneath the weight of good food and better company.
“I liked the place,” Maddie says after a pause, her tone softer. “Arbetter’s. It’s unpretentious. Nostalgic, in its way.”
“It’s timeless,” I agree, leaning back against the headrest. “Somehow, nothing about it ever changes—not the old-school menu board, not the chili fries, not the crowds.”
Maddie shifts slightly, her voice quieter now. “This was my first time. Marty always talked about Arbetter’s. She’d rave about the chili dogs, how packed it got on game nights—but I never made it there. I lived here for my senior year, but I was too caught up in my own world to give it a second thought.”
She pauses, her gaze dropping briefly, the weight of her admission settling between us. “I regret it now, though. Not just missing out on the food but the memories Marty always said she made there.”
I swallow hard, grateful for the mint in my mouth keeping me grounded. Marty’s presence feels so near, as if she’s riding in the back seat beside Maddie instead of a memory perched on my shoulder. I glance out the window, catching the afternoon light as it brushes the tops of the palm trees lining the avenue.
Mark clears his throat, the kind of transition he’s mastered in uncomfortable moments. “Well, we’re already on the road—why don’t we swing by Cobra Country? See the old stomping grounds?”
I hesitate, the suggestion hitting a nerve. “I’m not sure about that.”
“Why not?” Mark asks, flashing me his trademark grin. “We’re not going inside, just a walk-by. Leslie’s house is right by the school—it’s perfect to park.”
“He’s got a point,” Maddie chimes in, looking my way. “It’d be nice to see the place again. I graduated before you two started, but Marty always said SMSH had its own charm.”
I shift uncomfortably, searching for an out. “I don’t know… Ever since Columbine, they’ve locked down schools like Fort Knox. You can’t just wander onto school grounds anymore—it’s complicated.”
Mark snorts, the sound exaggerated for effect. “Who said anything about wandering inside? Relax, Jim. I’m talking about standing on the sidewalk, pointing at bricks, and pretending we’re still kids. Totally harmless.”
I sigh, sensing the inevitable. “All right, fine. Just no detours.”
Mark lets out a triumphant cheer, and we veer south on 87th Avenue, heading toward Miller Drive. The streets feel familiar, a muscle memory I haven’t flexed in years. Each turn brings something closer—a snapshot of a life I lived before Marty was gone, before Maddie was even in the picture. The tang of freshly mown grass mingles with the faint aroma of the bakery near the strip mall, each scent teasing the edge of recollection.
As Mark turns north onto 68th Avenue, SMSH comes into view, its blocky structure exactly as I remember. Windowless walls and faded concrete greet me like an old acquaintance, unchanged and unapologetic. The proximity stirs something deep—flashes of hallway conversations, muffled laughter behind heavy classroom doors, moments shared with Marty before we were old enough to understand their significance.
Mark pulls up a few houses north of the school, cutting the engine in front of Leslie’s place. I grip the armrest, hoping the quiet outside the car might help me keep it together.
*
Mark pulls into Leslie’s empty driveway, cutting the engine with a practiced motion. The faint whine of the radio dies as the car settles into silence, save for the ticking of the cooling engine. The modest house, painted a soft beige, is framed by a neatly trimmed yard. A towering oak tree anchors the scene, its limbs casting deep shadows across the driveway and front walk. Vertical shades, drawn closed behind the large windows, give the place an air of quiet privacy.
“Looks nice,” Maddie says, leaning forward to get a better view. “Love the oak tree—it’s got character. And the windows, too. They make it look… modern, but still cozy.”
Mark nods. “Leslie’s got good taste. It’s pretty similar to Mom’s, but more updated. Leslie hates deep pile carpet—it was everywhere when we were kids. She got rid of all that when she bought the place in ’95.”
“Before that, this was Dale’s – er, your mom’s house?” I ask, stepping out of the car and stretching my legs.
Mark nods again. “Yup, Mom lived here for years before she moved to Michigan with her second husband. Leslie didn’t waste any time redecorating after our mother left. You wouldn’t recognize the place now. Except for a few family photos—and I mean none with Dad in them—it’s all Leslie.”
Maddie turns her gaze toward the house again, absorbing the details. Her appreciation is genuine—it’s the way she looks at everything, as though finding meaning in the smallest things. I glance at Mark, who’s fiddling with his keys, and say, “So, Leslie works at Macy’s, huh? And no, I don’t care what the sign says—it’s always Burdine’s to me.”
Mark smirks, shaking his head. “What’s next, renaming Dadeland Mall?”
I chuckle. “You sound like my mom.”
Mark’s grin widens, but then his expression shifts into something more mischievous. “You know, Jim, Leslie actually had a crush on you when she was in ninth grade.”
I blink, momentarily caught off guard. “What? How do you know?”
Mark shrugs, smiling slyly. “She wouldn’t admit it to me even now, but let’s just say I know she dug you.”
Maddie bursts into laughter, her hazel eyes sparkling with amusement. “Oh, this is priceless! Jim Garraty, the heartthrob.”
I feel my face flush as Mark scratches the back of his neck, looking sheepish. “Good thing she’s at work,” I say, trying to shake off the awkwardness. “Seeing Leslie now, knowing that, would be, um, weird.”
Mark chuckles but doesn’t press the subject further. Maddie is still grinning, but she softens the teasing with a gentle touch on my arm. “Well, you did have good taste in high school, apparently.”
We turn toward the sidewalk, heading for South Miami High just a few blocks away. The canary-yellow bulk of the school looms in the near distance, growing larger with every southward step we take. The neighborhood feels unchanged—quiet and orderly, with familiar houses lining the street like old friends keeping watch.
With each step, I feel the tug of memory, the pull of years gone by. The last time I saw SMSH was 17 years ago, on my last day of classes in June ’83. I still remember handing my mom my final grade report because I couldn’t face going back inside myself. Now, partly because I don’t want to disappoint Mark or Maddie, I’m walking toward Cobra Country again, feeling the same mix of apprehension and resignation I felt on my first day as a sophomore in August ’80.
Almost unconsciously, I start humming the Imperial March from The Empire Strikes Back. It’s a habit I picked up as a kid – as half a joke and half a way to steel myself for whatever lay ahead. The movie was still in theaters the first time I walked through those front doors, and now the memory lingers, just like the heavy rhythm of the score in my head.
And suddenly, there it is—the pale yellow building, reflecting the afternoon sun like a relic of a bygone era. The tall flagpole in front flutters with the U.S. and Florida flags, the sound catching faintly on the breeze. I pause, taking it all in. For the first time in years, I feel as though I’ve stepped back into 1980.
We don’t go inside—none of us want to deal with the post-Columbine security protocols—but we climb the stairs to the front doors anyway, standing together in quiet contemplation. I look at the place with a mix of sadness and reverence. The building holds so much—great teachers like Mrs. Quincy, Marty’s infectious laugh, the moments that shaped who I am now. Standing here feels both comforting and painful, like visiting an old friend who’s grown distant.
Mark breaks the silence, his voice tinged with irony. “High school wasn’t as great as Hollywood makes it seem. It was more Carrie than Fast Times at Ridgemont High, if you ask me.”
I smile at the comparison. “It wasn’t horrible either. I mean, I met Marty here—and that eventually led to Maddie. That’s worth something, isn’t it?”
Maddie squeezes my hand gently, her touch grounding me as I stare at the building. We stay like that for a long moment, just the three of us, accompanied only by the occasional passing car and the fluttering flags.
As we turn to leave, Mark glances at me. “Anywhere special you want to go before heading back to my place in the Gables?”
I think about it for a while, the weight of the moment lingering in the air. Finally, I reply, “Yes, there is.”
A Certain Point of View, Too 
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