Prom Night

It has struck me, nearly every day, as I write this little blog of mine, "What would people think?" There are people out there, who know me to varying degrees, reading these words. Some know several of these stories I tell, some know the people involved, but no one - until now - knew them all. I feel like a clam, my shell smashed against jagged rock, exposing the flesh of me. Sometimes, I will write a line, attempting to censor and to be unfaithful to my truth because I see the faces of family and friends frowning. Wondering if I will expose them along with myself. Wondering if situations I have experienced, that have made me a better person, apply to them. I see disapproval, I see disappointment, I see disillusionment. Perhaps, in this infinite wheel of me feeling abnormal, seeking normality, discovering I am normal, experiencing tragedy, feeling abnormal, seeking normality - perhaps in this wheel I have discovered what put me here to begin with; the disapproval, the shame. But my ferocity of the independence leaping from my heart does not slow for such emotions and sometimes leads me to self inflicted wounds - like those I received on prom night.

It was senior year, and I was working hard. I had a job and I went to school and got good grades. For those of you who may not know, I like having control. I had a plan for my life, and there were no contingencies to fall back on. The 2 most important dates to me, as with many women, were my wedding and my prom. I had to have the perfect dress, the perfect shoes, the perfect hair, and I had someone handpicked to go with me.

We had been friends since freshman year. He liked to make me laugh. I didn't mind his braces, or glasses, or the way he teased me. We were fun together, and for some reason, I felt responsible for him. Always warning him to look both ways when crossing the street with me, chastising him for skipping class, asking him if he'd done his homework. He was my pet, and sometimes my pet was naughty. Once, while sitting in Spanish class together, he continually blew spit balls at me. I got really frustrated and kicked his chair - which got me, not him, sent to the dean's office. Although this was a blemish on my record, I forgave him - well, really, there was no forgiving, there was just moving on. So when the time for prom came, I knew he would want to be there with me; making me smile and laugh, and twirling me around in my beautiful gown. I couldn't wait.

About a month before the prom, I called him and asked him the big question - I know, how unconventional of me, it was my fierce sense of independence rearing its huge uncompromising head again. He said that he didn't have money to buy the tickets or rent a tuxedo and that he would have to see if he could get some from somewhere. In my mind, it was all very vague, but I never heard a no. I went on, going to department stores and buying a beautiful antique white off the shoulders gown. My mother bought me pearl and gold earrings, sequined slippers, a pearl choker, and I bought my prom ticket. Through all of this spending I envisioned him; holding my hand, kissing me for the first time, and staring at the stars together. So the day before prom, when I asked him if he bought his ticket and he said no, I was beyond dejected. It was my big day, maybe my only big day, and now he was ruining it. I offered to buy his ticket, but he wouldn't let me. I didn't care what it would look like; I just wanted him there beside me.

The night of the prom, there was no one home except one of my brothers. My mother never got to see how lovely I looked in my gown, with my princess curls and jewelry. A tear fell from my eye as I put on my choker.

A few of my girlfriends and I went to the prom together without dates. I watched as girls with their dates, spun around the dance floor, and kissed and hugged, and took photos. All of these beautiful people in this fancy country club, having the time of their lives, and I felt alone. More importantly, I missed him. I missed the good time I could have been having and tortured myself with visions of he and I doing the things the others were. I danced with my girlfriends and then sat alone in a corner until it was time for the cruise.

On the boat, I went out to the deck and stared at the stars, all by myself. One of my classmates came out and asked me why I looked so sad, and I told him it was because I was experiencing what should have been a wonderful time without the person I wanted to share it with. He gave me a pat on the shoulder and said he would dance with me. It was the highlight of my night.

Returning to the school for breakfast - this was a 10 hour prom - all of the teachers stopped me in the hall to tell me that I looked like a princess, and they asked where my date was. The question was like a thorn in my side. To end the horrible night/day, I went home to discover my brothers at school and my mother at work so I was locked out and had to go to my aunt’s house that lived about 20 blocks away in a big poofy gown with people pointing and watching.

The following week, when I saw the boy who stood me up for the prom, I was angry. I didn't want to see him or speak to him, but we shared classes together. All of my anger turned to fear, when he told me that after graduation he was enlisting in the army. He was my pet, and he might get hurt. He was my responsibility. I was frightened the way a mother might be frightened for a child, but there was something different. There was a feeling that was making me sweaty when I was around him - sweaty and a nervous - during those last few weeks of High School.

He wrote me letters when he was in basic training and when he graduated; he came back for a visit. I was in disbelief, the boy that left had become a man. We went on a date, walking around and talking about our dreams. We held hands and sung in the streets. It was winter, and the air was crisp, but we felt so warm. When he took me home, we lingered at the train station, neither of us quite knowing how to say goodbye. Finally, I closed my eyes and presented my lips for a kiss, but just then his train came - he popped up, said goodbye and got on it. That was almost 10 years ago.

Almost 10 years with no writing, or phone calls, not knowing where each other was. 10 years of me thinking about him, always seeing him with a little family on some military base somewhere. 10 years of me saying his name, of Google searches, of musing on what might have been. Then one day, through MySpace, I saw him and emailed him. We were married a year and a half later; I wore my prom dress.

I hope none of you mind that I ended on such a happy note, I will do better. . .

Tomorrow, A Mother and Daughter. . .