What a difference thirty years make! I went to an all-girls Catholic school, St Brigids Ladies College, in very parochial, Lesmurdie, Western Australia. I was voted by some as most annoying, by others extremely rude, by one girl an iceberg, by another a fun person but by all and sundry I have been defined as the world’s most fanatical Bay City Rollers fan. And that’s a beautiful thing!

I spent first year high in a rough public school where I was bullied, beaten and bashed up on a regular basis by local school thugs and people I’d never met before. I ended up a library refugee. Luckily we moved house and my parents enrolled me from the government-sanctioned war zone that was Kelmscott High School to the gentle sloping hills of Lesmurdie in the charming little olde-worldly sanctuary known as St Brigids Ladies College, but not before I got my revenge.

In 1976 my thirteen-year-old self made a phone-call bomb-threat to my previous school and I ended up in court with a stern warning. But now I was safely ensconced in a private school isolated in the Darling Ranges where luckily for me, the toilets were used for their designated purpose rather than ramming someone’s head down the full bowl, holding it underwater and flushing it. It used to be called the Royal Flush but I believe it is now called water-boarding.

I no longer felt threatened, but I was still fighting an invisible war inside my head and the only friends I had were the Bay City Rollers. I was rude, hostile and defensive to those girls who had only ever known St Brigids, and in hindsight those girls were kind, caring, nurturing and welcomed me with open arms. However, this was nothing that thirteen years of therapy didn’t finally sort out.

I had attended with much trepidation the 20th in 1999 and it settled the ghosts somewhat but last Friday it resurrected those ghosts into real people who rock and roll and some with far more personal history than I ever had to contend with at St. Brigids.

I was scared, I almost didn’t go due to a slight panic attack that morning (as did others I later found out) but opportunities like this only come around once every ten years and only if someone is dedicated enough to put the time and effort in.

My most memorable conversation was with the school prefect. I had long waist-length hair I refused to tie back and she was always telling me off and I was always telling her to get stuffed (and worse). I reminded her of this and she apologized saying that she was most annoying, wasn’t she? Then we both hooted with laughter. It’s all about perspective.

Some didn’t attend. My St. Brigids nemesis wasn’t there.
As I arrived, scanning the crowd anxiously while studying the program, I noted with joyous glee she was absent. I’d planned on saying hello and saying sorry and taking it from there but I felt a much blessed relief she hadn’t turned up.

Until towards the end of the evening, when I found out why she wasn’t there. She’d been invited to the 20th Anniversary but told the organizer that she hated school, hated everyone in it and vowed never to attend a reunion. As one friend put it, she’s tragically haunted. It goes to show that we can never second guess people and my entire perspective on her changed. I had spent 30 years wishing this girl/woman would rot in hell and a part of me thinks she might have done. Another part of me can’t help feeling perhaps I contributed to this. The entire me wants to make amends, to atone and restore. If she will let me.

Back at age 16 we were all at a mixed party, everyone paired up, the lights were turned off and all couples snogged (kissed) off in the dark lounge-room (till the parents came home). Except for this girl and another boy, a tall, geeky, pale-looking boy who wore glasses and probably owns and runs the Australian branch of Microsoft now from the back of his 200 metre yacht. They just stayed under the kitchen lights glaring at each other. Everyone teased her a bit after that but I teased her mercilessly for a few weeks. I was just so very grateful it was not me left alone in the kitchen. Finally I had a chance to lord it over someone else. I deserved some sort of punishment, but felt what I got far outweighed what I did.

At the reunion, I had a fabulous time. I never felt popular at school yet that night I felt as popular as everyone else. We were all equal. After a few drinks and catching up we really felt comfortable enough to share a few of the sadder stories of life.

I spoke longer to some people that night than I did in the entire time at school. Towards the end of the night it was noticeable, after mingling randomly with all, that we had drifted off to our little school cliques but without demarcation lines, we all had the ability to change seats and go sit with whoever we wanted.

There are plans for a more informal reunion at the end of the year when one of our overseas friends can make it. I had an epiphany on the way home. It’s time to make a special effort, perhaps not from me, to contact my ex-nemesis and let her know personally she is much wanted at the next reunion. She may or may not come, and she may or may not appreciate being contacted, but there may be a small part of her that, like the rest of us, is now ready to lay her own ghosts to rest.

I learned that night that personal history is flexible and fluid. It depends what one wants to remember. I remembered only the good stuff.

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From Psych Central's website:
Not Another High School Reunion? | Therapy Unplugged (October 17, 2009)

    Last reviewed: 21 Jun 2009