February 2023 — I sit on the same big sofa in my family room that the pajama-clad “Shorney 10” had lounged on while chatting away last weekend.
The quiet is deafening.
The “girls” have flown home to Ohio, Illinois, Georgia, Florida, and Texas. I have the sectional to myself, now, while I fold from the mound of our laundered bedsheets. I reflect on the three-day reunion at my house, more than 45 years after we all lived on the first floor in Shorney Hall, and 40 years since we’d last seen each other.
It’s been a couple of days since we said a teary goodbye in my driveway, yet I remain in awe of the weekend’s impact. As I climb onto the ladder to remove the red and white Denison banner hanging across the windows, I think back to our beginning.
Ours is a coming-of-age story in the fall of 1978, when 10 girls moved onto the first floor of Shorney. As we bade farewell to our parents until Thanksgiving, we drifted into each others’ rooms and bonded immediately. We named ourselves the Shorney 10: Heidi, Jill, Joan, Margaret, Michele, Mike (for Michele), Patty, Sallie, Tracey, and me — Heather.
We were different in many ways, but the same in our vulnerability, loyalty, and support.
Together, we were “little sisters” at ATO, went to parties, and ate at Saga. Together, we sang to Pure Prairie League’s “Amie” — cowboy hats on heads and hairbrushes as mics — danced to Earth, Wind & Fire, and huddled over popcorn poppers. Together, we had midnight seances wearing Lanz nightgowns in the graveyard during finals. Together, we laughed and cried through boyfriends, heartbreak, and homesickness.
Our friendship persevered, even though we went our separate ways later at Denison and for the next 40 years with virtually no contact — until I volunteered my house for a reunion, where seven of the Shorney 10 committed to convening on Presidents Day weekend 2023.
Six women flew out of six cities and arrived here in Bucks County, Pennsylvania. After a welcome champagne toast, the Shorney 10 settled into our living quarters throughout the house — reminiscent of dorm living. We kicked off the celebration with Friday dinner and Open Mic Night at a local tavern, where we performed “Amie” like the old days — hairbrushes in our grips — accompanied by guitar and piano.
We spent our days strolling, shopping, antiquing, laughing, and making a friendly spectacle of ourselves wherever we went, telling the elevator version of the Shorney 10 story to all we encountered. We had themed dinners at home — Tex-Mex night and then Mardi Gras night, when we dressed in costume and acted our assigned parts as we unraveled a New Orleans-themed murder mystery.
The weekend was full, but the best times were spent lazing in our pajamas, talking for hours over breakfast and dinner tables, or FaceTiming with the three of the Shorney 10 who were unable to make the reunion.
Nothing had changed in many ways. We each still have our individual gestures and quirks from 1978, and we share the same interest in and support for one another.
Everything had changed in other ways. We’ve had careers, marriages, divorces, children, grandchildren, hardships, and tragedy.
In our extended and, at times, wistful conversations, we wondered how our lives would line up with those we’d predicted decades earlier when we each recorded, aloud, our hopes and dreams for the future. That cassette tape exists somewhere.
Perhaps it was serendipity in 1978 that 10 girls looking for themselves found each other first. Perhaps we fell into one another’s arms to navigate — together — the tumultuous time in our lives that would ultimately lead us to find ourselves.
We were a security blanket of sorts. Like the one you discover in a chest of keepsakes in the attic. You pick it up — it feels, smells, looks the same. Its weathered softness draws you again to its comfort, and you are enveloped by its warmth.
We were that for each other in 1978. We were that for each other in 2023. We continue to be that for each other — now, more than ever.
That is the essence of the Shorney 10.