For my seventeen post, I’ve got another prom story to tell. This one is about my junior prom, which was by far the most memorable prom of them all.
Despite this being a more enlightened age, I am somewhat stuck in the past when it comes to who should ask out whom. Probably this is because I fear rejection and failure and also because I’m a big chicken. As a result, I waited until the last possible moment to ask someone to prom. Of course, everyone already had dates by then, so the three people I thought to ask were taken. Out of desperation, I asked Mr. Junior. You may or may not remember him from such other prom-related posts as “You can’t promenade alone, can you?”
Of course, between my freshman and junior years of high school, things between Mr. Junior and me had changed quite a bit. See, it turns out that Mr. Junior had quite the crush on me. Mr. Junior finally found the nerve to ask me out my sophomore (his senior) year and we dated for several months. If I remember correctly, I think I was his first girlfriend. At first, I thought he was sweet and smart and everything a girl could ever want in a guy. I mean, hey – he wrote me poetry and bought me flowers and candy. It was like being in a really cheesy chick flick with all the sappy romantic-type stuff. I loved it.
But, as will happen, the new wore off and my opinion of Mr. Junior began to change. See, he didn’t have a very good relationship with his mother and eventually, he treated me the same way he treated her – badly. When I could finally take it no longer, I ended it. His feelings for me were clearly different from mine for him and I didn’t feel it was right to lead him on. But when I broke up with him, he didn’t believe that I really wanted it to be over. He was convinced that I only broke up with him because one of my friends disliked him. To win me back, he composed a guilt trip in verse and brought me flowers and chocolate and when none of that worked, he started a fight. Because, you know, that’s how every woman longs to have her heart won.
I was mad at him for a long time. Despite everything, I had really wanted to stay friends with him and I tried to keep my word that we would still be friends. So, desperate to go to prom and desperate to have a date, I asked him to accompany me as friends. Strictly platonic. He agreed.
I should have known better.
This time, we were not chauffeured by his parents. We rode with some friends this time, which was much more fun. I had spent all day getting ready with one of my best friends, who did my hair and make-up and lent me a dress. We had so much fun getting ready together!
We made it through the drive to Lincoln and pictures and supper without incident. Then a slow song came on and I wanted to dance, so I dragged Mr. Junior out to the dance floor. I’d been having a wonderful time up till now and I thought he had been as well. But as we were dancing, he leaned close and whispered, “I believe we’re soul mates, that we’re destined to be together.”
No, I am not making that up.
And no, I have not read one too many romance novels. I don’t read trashy romance, thank you very much. Unless, of course, by trashy you mean classic. 😀
I drew back a little bit, just enough to look Mr. Junior in the eye, and said, “Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel that way. That’s why I broke up with you.” He didn’t say anything for the rest of the dance and when it was over, he mumbled something and walked away. I thought he was just going to get some punch or something and went back to visiting with my friends, figuring he would turn up when he was ready.
I didn’t see him again for the rest of the night.
As the dance began to wind down, I began hunting for him. It did no good; no one had seen him. No one knew where he was. I panicked; what if something had happened?
After an hour of searching, I learned that something had, indeed, happened. Mr. Junior had left. He walked six miles down the road to his mom’s friend’s house, from whence he called my dad and said that we dropped him off on our way home.
My friend’s date saw how upset I was and dragged me out to the dance floor for a slow dance to calm me down and take my mind off things. It worked…till we got home and discovered what my date had been up to. A fight ensued, which his mother and my dad sort of egged on. I think that was the last time I’ve talked to Mr. Junior. It’s strange to think that it’s been eleven years ago now.
It may not have been the best prom ever, but it was certainly the most memorable.
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