A Fateful Morning in June of 1983: An Excerpt from ‘Reunion: Coda’

The morning of June 17, 1983, rose slowly over South Miami, pressing its familiar heat against the city long before the sun cleared the horizon. It was the kind of summer day that promised sweat, glare, and the restless energy of endings. Across the city, seniors from the Class of ’83 were waking up to the realization that this was it — the last morning they would ever begin as high school students. In a small bedroom still half‑dark, one of them—James Kevin Garraty—was already losing a battle with his alarm clock.

The cube-shaped silver-gray Sony Dream Machine alarm clock with blue LED digits pierced my eardrums with its shrill wail, snapping me out of a fitful slumber filled with Stephen King-style nightmares. I groaned and, annoyed, jabbed the SLEEP button several times, wishing I could stay in bed for another hour. Or better yet… forever. I muttered to myself, “Why do I have to get up so freakin’ early?” It was not like it was a normal day or anything. However, nothing was normal about this day. It was the end of an era, the closing of a chapter, the final goodbye to a place that had been my second home for three years. South Miami Senior High School, where I had met the girl of my dreams, and let her slip away after waiting for too long to tell her how I felt.

 The school year had officially ended two days before, and even though Marty and I had exchanged an unexpectedly emotional goodbye, complete with a sweet, tender embrace and a kiss on the lips, I half-hoped, half-feared running into her, perhaps alone, perhaps accompanied by her family, either before or after our graduation ceremony. Would she be happy to see me after what had transpired between us during those last few minutes at South Miami High? Would she be angry at me for making her wait till after we’d been given our diplomas and turned in our borrowed caps and gowns to read The Letter? Would she cry? Would she laugh at me? Or would she run into my arms for one last kiss to remember her by?

That is, of course, if I saw Marty at all. Like all the other high schools in the Dade County Public Schools system, South Miami Senior High School’s graduating classes were too large to accommodate students, faculty, administrators, and, of course, friends and family members of the graduating seniors within the school itself. The only space on campus where all 535 of us seniors had ever been assembled as a group was the school gym/basketball court, but even that cavernous space was too tiny to hold the crowd of 3,000 that was expected to attend the Class of 1983’s commencement ceremony. As a result, my fellow grads and our guests who had tickets had to go to the Theodore R. Gibson Health Center at Miami-Dade Community College’s South Campus instead.

I had never set foot in Miami-Dade South before. To me, it was just a blur of buildings and trees that I glimpsed from Mark’s car as we drove from one place to another. He was my best friend and chauffeur since I had a license but no car of my own. I wondered how big the campus was if one building could fit over 3,000 people for the graduation ceremony.

We weren’t going as a group as we did for field trips on those Aspen yellow buses with DADE COUNTY PUBLIC SCHOOLS in black letters. We had to find our parking spots, wherever they were. That meant there was no guarantee that I would see Marty after we got our diplomas and returned our caps and gowns by the pool next to Gibson Center.

Still, I told myself sternly, I’d better brush my teeth extra thoroughly before putting on my suit. And have a pack of Tic-Tac mints handy…just in case I get one last chance to be alone with Marty…maybe even exchange numbers or mailing addresses so we can keep in touch…or something.

Marty. Oh, Martina Elizabeth Reynaud consumed my thoughts as I considered all the repercussions of our last conversation. What if she hated me? What if she thought I was a creep, or a coward, for confessing my feelings at the last minute? I felt a pang of regret and fear in my chest.

I lay in bed, staring at the blue numbers on my Dream Machine: 5:35 AM. It was still dark outside, and according to Bob Weaver’s forecast on Channel Four the night before, the sun wouldn’t rise until 6:30. It was going to be a nice South Florida summer day: warm, a bit humid, and sunny. No chance of rain to wash away my worries.

I should try to get some more sleep, I thought. I didn’t want to look like a zombie when Mom took pictures of me in my cap and gown. But sleep was the last thing on my mind. Instead, visions of the recent past flickered before me as in some kind of movie theater buried deep in my subconscious…in living color and Dolby Stereo sound…and with 1950s-style movie posters with angsty titles like The One That Got Away and Wasted Chances – starring, of course, J.K. Garraty and Martina Reynaud – displayed prominently on the theater lobby walls.

I felt a twinge of pain deep inside my chest as I saw – still inside that nightmarish movie theater in my skull – Marty as I had last seen her less than two days before: clad in Levi’s jeans, a white and orange SOUTH MIAMI HIGH CHORUS T-shirt, and girls’ Keds sneakers. During our last conversation in South Miami’s choral practice room, she had been pensive, sweet, gentle, wise, vulnerable, and (was I imagining this?) unexpectedly affectionate. Especially at the end after I’d given her The Envelope with my last-minute confession of my love for her and made her promise that she would not read its contents till after the commencement ceremony…less than seven hours from now, I thought glumly as the conscious part of my brain noted the time – 5:38 AM – on the face of the Dream Machine.

I wanted to screw my eyes closed to avoid watching Wasted Chances – or The One That Got Away – and not see the bit that I knew was coming “onscreen” next. But like a driver rubbernecking at an accident scene on Bird Road – or Miller Drive, or even goddam Flagler Street, I couldn’t avert my gaze from the panoramic view of Room 136, lit in cold-white, fluorescent lights, almost unfurnished save for a shrouded Kawai piano and one gray metal folding chair, and currently occupied by two jeans-clad 18-year-olds: Marty and me in The Big Farewell Scene. You know…the part where Our Not So Gallant Hero picks up his much-used olive drab Jansport backpack, turns to The Girl He Loves, and tries to imitate Han Solo…or is it Indiana Jones…?

Jim (turning to Marty in leave-taking): Well, this is it, sweetheart…

Holding his backpack in one hand, Jim makes a beeline for the chorus practice room door, but before he can take more than a couple of steps, Marty reaches out and gently but firmly tugs on Jim’s free hand. He stops in his tracks with a surprised look on his face and turns to face Marty.

Marty (smiling shyly) Hey, you’re just going to leave without…

She pauses, looks Jim directly in the eyes with laser-like intensity, and pulls him closer to her.

Marty (CONTINUED): Without a kiss goodbye?

Before Jim can react, Marty wraps her arms around him, closes her eyes, and puts her lips firmly but gently on his. Still (somehow) holding on to his backpack, Jim hugs Marty with his other arm and falls into the spell of her kiss. It’s a loving yet somehow innocent kiss; like the kind of smooch you’d see in old-timey movies like Casablanca or To Have and Have Not – no dueling tongues or passionate moans, but still conveying love and yearning.

(Cue John Williams-style love theme)

Before the Skull Cinema’s sadistic projectionist could show me more of The Big Farewell scene, my Sony Dream Machine’s alarm wailed insistently yet again, sending the movie-like presentation of that one-and-only kiss between Marty and me back into the deep dark recesses of my subconscious, leaving me to stare balefully at my radio-alarm clock’s LED display. 5:45 AM? Fuck it – I can’t sleep with all that weirdness scrambling my brain. Might as well get movin’.  

What Readers Say on Amazon

anonymous

5 out of 5 stars

Amazing first novel!

Reviewed in the United States on May 3, 2025

Format: Kindle

Verified Purchase

Alex’s book is a thrill. It’s heartbreaking at times and hilarious at others. He writes lyrically, resembling the great writers of the past. There are no wasted pages or unnecessary details. He has a special gift of describing situations and painting pictures with words. There is never a dull moment. And the novel is simply emotionally captivating. I loved it and can’t wait for him to write another. Don’t miss it!