Scott Ruden drummed his fingers on the leather covered steering wheel, keeping time with the beat coming from car radio. His thoughts, however, were not on the music, but his twentieth high school reunion being held that weekend in his home town. He had been pretty lucky over the years and had done quite well with his computer soft ware company, so at least he wasn’t going to have to make up a lot of stories about how his life has been going! It had been at least fifteen years since he had been to Maplewood, the last time being to bury his mother, so he really had had given no thought of coming back until he received his invitation in the mail. It was a five hundred mile drive, and it felt good to escape the big city tension for the pastoral calm of the green country side. About an hour later, Scott could make out the water tower that had maple leaves painted all over it. “Still looks just as hokey as ever,” he thought, as he turned down main street, marveling at how little change had taken place in all those years. Patterson’s Men’s Clothing was still on the corner, and Jenkins’ Drug Store still had the same old pink neon sign that had been there since he was a boy growing up. The memories flooded back with each old store, house, or park that came into view. He took a right on Elm Street, and two blocks later he slowed down and drove by the old homestead. Shutters had been added to the front windows, and the once white paint job was now an earth tone tan, but to Scott it still was home. He glanced at his watch and realized that the reception was already started, so he gunned the motor and headed off to the high school. The squat red brick structure that was Maplewood Central High School used to sit on the east edge of town at the end of Bluff Street, now however, a new subdivision had been built up around the school, making it seem more a part of the neighborhood. There was a big sign hanging over the front door welcoming everyone to the reunion. Once inside the building, another sign directed the guests to gymnasium, where they found a crepe paper jungle of decorations hanging from the walls and ceiling. A table with name tags was manned by two smiling women that Scott didn’t recognize, but who greeted him like a long lost friend. He picked up his name tag, went over to the punch bowl and poured himself a drink, and then began circulating around the room trying to find someone he might remember from the old days. It was a voice that came shooting out of the past that made him turn around. “Scott Ruden, I haven’t seen you in twenty years, how have you been,” asked the masculine feminine voice?