The Prom

Note: here is a story that I have avoided discussing even here, but this particular Challenge seems to demand that I dig deep and look at a very unpleasant memory. Some of you may think less of me, or the other person involved, but that is just the way things work out.

Oh, and this is second video I have saved on YouTube.

Here we go.

-K.D.

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Another one of these…but this one really is going to be different.

I know that we also have to record ourselves telling this story, which is truly the least palatable part of this Challenge. I go out of my way to avoid using my photo when possible on social media. I prefer pictures of scenes, or ones that can reflect parts of my personality (the sleeping dinosaur photo is still used on some of my web sites). I have been told, on less-than-sarcastic authority, that I am not the most hideous person out there, so why not include a picture of your profile on your profiles? Why deny it to the rest of the world?

Well, this is why I have decided to save this particular story for a moment like this. It seems like the perfect story for this Challenge.

Let’s go back to the 1990s, if you will. I was in my last year of high school, trying to avoid any social intrigue or ostracism until we could be rid of those hideous teachers, ugly classrooms, and the usual nonsense of teenagerdom. I was in a class in a seat next to a classmate who was friendly enough that year. I had known her in other classes and considered her a friend…just a friend. That was why I was very surprised at the end of one class when we were having a discussion of upcoming events in the school calendar, and she said the following:

“No, I’m asking you out.”

We were, of course, talking about the prom. You know what I mean, if you had a North American teen life. It is the annual event where you dress up; attend a dance in a school gym or convention centre, maybe sneak in a bottle of liquor. You may even get lucky and find yourself in the backseat of a car or in a cheap motel, or on a beach, or…

Sorry, I am getting ahead of things here.

She asked me out to the prom and I did not know what to do. I was not dating anyone at the school. I have already mentioned my father and how his treatment of me coloured my life. I had somehow managed to make it to the end of my high school life without becoming involved with anyone at my school. I did join clubs and sometimes attend dances – my brother refused to let me stay at home – and even win awards (a big surprise that final year). But…there were no dates; no awkward moments with the family and a girl on my arm; no worries that I would end up like a teenage parent like some of my other relatives. I was on my own.

But I was asked out to the prom; me, the guy who barely spoke up in school and just wanted to avoid people outside of the class.

What to do…

Well, I decided at that exact moment to say, “Yes!” Why not? Maybe I could note this down as a teachable moment, or at least an experience worth saving and recalling for future children or grandchildren. I would find a suit, get my stepfather’s car – with my stepfather as a chauffeur – and take her to a convention hall not too far from our place for one night.

Now, this story is not to recall all of the details of the prom, so I will be brief: we arrived, me in a suit, her in a dress and corsage; we shared a table with some other kids that I can call “friends”, even though there was not much we had in common; we danced, laughed, ate some very overcooked food (no slur on the catering, but maybe soup should be warm when you serve it); we talked about our plans for the rest of our lives. I was actually having a good time.

And then it happened.

“I’m going off with some other friends.”

And that was it. She left me there, in front of people I knew and had spent at least four years with to go off with some other people at the event whom I barely knew. I tried to play it off and a part of me refused to even acknowledge what was happening. But people saw it. Teachers and staff saw it; classmates in the same group saw it. One person who did not like me saw it and felt sympathy for me, calling her a bitch and walking away angrier than I could ever be. At the end of the night, I made sure that everyone else left first, including certain teachers who offered me a ride home. I simply called my folks and explained what happened.

Now, here’s the punch line: we still had to finish the school year, meaning that I had to share a classroom with her. We did not talk about the night, and I did not ask about her friends, or she about what I did after she left me there. And to be very honest, I did not feel angry about it. I know that it was my right to bitch and complain, but what would be the point? I had the rest of my life to deal with and did not want this to be the focus.

And look at that word, “prom”. It comes from the word “promenade,” a late-19th century word meaning “formal dance”. And it was a dance; a display of what I had always suspected about myself: I just did not care. That young woman on that particular night made it clear just what kind of a personality I would have for the rest of my life: cold, cutting and independent. Maybe I still do not relish the idea of my picture becoming plastered all over social media and the rest of the web, but I would not become emotional about it. Life is a bad joke, and if you don’t understand the punchline, it gets to be even worse than it already is.

I expect no love from anyone (even surprised my family provides any), and I expect others not to see me as a potential partner. And you might still be thinking that this is tragic.

No, not at all.

The lesson was learned and the education was worthwhile.

Just don’t ask for a picture.

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Thank you for reading!

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You can find more poems, stories, and articles by Kendall Defoe on my Vocal profile. I complain, argue, provoke and create...just like everybody else.

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