High School Reunion2. Old Friends

I don't know if you are supposed to stay at your parents' house when you go back for a high school reunion, but that was never an option for me. “My room” was most likely converted into something else a long time ago.

My original plan was to stay at one of the high rise hotels downtown. The closer to Nicollet, the better. Then I got an offer I could refuse, but chose not to. An old friend from high school offered to put me up in her house. Something about being in Minneapolis made a house more attractive than a hotel. Looking out a high window and seeing all the other tall buildings, walking out onto a busy shopping street is something I can do every day in Hong Kong. But an honest to goodness detached, single dwelling house with a porch and yard in a quiet neighborhood with wide streets and other houses is something you just don't see around here. That is the way I grew up, so it was only fitting for a visit to my hometown.

When I say Chelsea was a high school friend, that is an exaggeration. We were not especially close. We had a few classes together and waved in passing, but we never shared our darkest insecurities over tater tots or pasties. We started talking again when this whole reunion thing came up, and when I mentioned some of the downtown hotels I was looking at, her Minnesota immediately kicked in and she offered me her house. For a second, I was surprised. That is not the sort of thing we do in Hong Kong. But then my Minnesota kicked in and I realized I would have done the same.

As it turns out, she has a very nice house. It is nowhere near downtown, but it has a porch and yard and sits on a wide suburban street full of houses that don't all look the same. Best of all, it has a swimming pool. My apartment building in Hong Kong has a pool, but public pools in China are disgusting. This was a private pool that is professionally maintained. If her lawn is any indication, I would say professionals come out to her house on a regular basis. As soon as I saw the pool, I was glad this reunion was in summer instead of winter.

Chelsea is obviously doing well for herself. She lives alone in a house large enough for a family, waiting for Miss Right to come along and help her fill it. She is perfectly content to live 15 miles from where we went to high school. She told me she could not imagine living outside of Hennepin County. Even St Paul would be a stretch for her. At the same time, she wanted to hear all about my life on the other side of the world.

When she picked me up from the airport, she offered to take me out for a night on the town. It was dinner time and downtown Minneapolis has more options than outlanders ever imagine. But I had just spent the last 23 hours at airports and on planes. I wanted to see some of the old sights, but I could wait. We stayed in that night. Chelsea warned me that she was a bad cook. That is when I decided to tell her that it would not matter.

I never introduce myself to people with, “Hello. I'm Hailey and I have no sense of taste.” And if I did, most people would look at my clothes. But it seems to come up more often than I would prefer. When you share a meal with someone, whether at a restaurant or homemade, they almost always want to know what you think. I am not going to lie and say something is good, especially after I have been told the cook does a bad job. I think I have reached the point where I know I'm just going to have to tell pretty much everyone sooner or later.

The problem with telling someone you can't taste anything is that they always ask why. Every single time. No one just accepts it and moves on. Then I have to explain that I technically have a sense of taste but have no sense of smell and the two are like salt and pepper. This inevitably leads to a longer conversation. Sometimes I wish Tom Hanks would star in a movie about someone without a sense of smell. Then most people would understand the basics, or at least whatever is explained in the movie. It might not be the most exciting movie to watch, or even very accurate, but at least it would be easier for me. Then again, less than 0.002% of people with autism are anything like Rain Man. Temple Grandin does more for autism every day than that movie will ever do.

The best part about spending the last 23 hours at airports and on planes is that it provides a convenient excuse to avoid long conversations. After describing how senseless I am, I played the exhausted card to get out of explaining why. I could always tell my big sob story later. It would have been rude for Chelsea to push any further at that point, so she made us dinner and I went to sleep.