My new friend Peggy and I went to school together from the time we were in the eighth grade, but we weren't close.

We couldn't quite figure out why, when we met for dinner a couple of months ago. She had flown to Sacramento on business from her home in Virginia, and she'd gotten in touch on a whim to see if I remembered her.

One of the joys of being extremely easy to find in a basic Google search is precisely this: From time to time, people from my distant past pop up to say hi. With very few exceptions, it's a pleasure to hear from them.

The messages are sweet, like touching little postcards from a past life. "I don't know if you remember me," the e-mails usually begin.

Of course, I remember.

And that's what I told Peggy.

When we were students there several decades ago, our tiny suburban high school campus was like a small town, and not necessarily in a good way.

In a larger school, it's possible to get lost in the shuffle – lost to be yourself, maybe; lost to find your own way in your own time. There's a certain freedom sometimes found in anonymity.

But at our small school, where almost everyone knew you from the time you were a little kid, you were easily slotted into a category, defined and dismissed.

Anonymity would have been a blessing.

No gauzy haze of nostalgia can change that.

In one sense, of course, we were acquainted with everyone in the school, as well as their brothers and sisters, their parents and stepparents and the gossip surrounding them all. Even though many years have passed, those of us with good memories can recall events involving the same cast of characters back in the fifth grade.

Time has blurred some of the details and brought forgiveness, even amused fondness. Even so, some perpetrators you simply don't forget.

Yet in another sense, we really only knew our immediate circle of acquaintances on our small campus. The labels – or maybe just shyness and sheer adolescent gawkiness – kept us tongue-tied, more or less comfortably locked into the stereotypes.

Only the rare high school kid has the gift for bridging those barriers.

We were not those kids.

So it's not surprising, I suppose, that I can't remember having a single conversation with Peggy while we were back in school together. Not a single one, despite the fact that there were only 74 people in our graduating class.

She was tall and pretty. She seemed nice, from a distance, and her older sister was in my sister's class. For decades, that's all I knew about her.

Like grown-ups everywhere, I long ago figured out one of life's basic truths: Almost everyone in high school feels like a misfit, a bit out of step, a bit different, maybe even misunderstood, and the few who say they don't are either lying or lucky.

Also, having attended a reunion or two, I've learned that time generally proves to be a great leveler.

To put it simply, you grow up and get over yourself.

And one last thing: When life has taken you thousands of miles and two time zones away from where you grew up, it's a rare gift to spend time with someone who knew you back in the day, when you were both shy teens trapped in what seemed like a very small world.

My new friend Peggy is smart and funny and charming. And yes, she's still tall and pretty.

Business brought her to Sacramento again just a week ago. It's a shame it took us all these years to figure out we should have been friends all along.

Call The Bee's Anita Creamer, (916) 321-1136.