greybeta: (Robotech - Rick and Lisa)
[personal profile] greybeta
You know what word strikes fear into the hearts of antisocial high school nerds everywhere? Prom. If you’re a guy, you’ve been playing too many video games or done too many anime marathons to foster the kind of relationships conducive to dating (ratio of gamer girls to gamer guys might be 1:20 at any given high school).

I was the same way, plus on top of that it was expected that my parents would arrange a marriage for me once I graduated from college. So I really didn’t worry about girls in high school (read: the only girls I associated with were in class or at church). While this allowed me incredible focus into my studies, it also made me an extremely introverted person.

Then senior year hits and a lot of people get excited about college. I remember my Psychology AP class, taught by Mr. Mahaffey. He made us write a journal in which we had to average five pages a week. It’d been a long time since I kept a journal, so it was good for me to get back into that groove.

Looking back into that journal makes me laugh. I had a habit of starting out each entry with a quote, for Mr. Mahaffey always had different quotes on the board to spur on our writing. And I would wax poetic about nothing in particular. But towards the end one subject made me feel uncomfortable.

Mr. Mahaffey kept imploring us to go to prom. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity to go to senior prom, something you don’t get back once it’s gone. Go ahead, ask that girl out that you’ve been thinking about for the past few months. Years down the road, you’ll be glad you did.

Now you have to understand that the high school version of myself was a stuttering, quiet, and timid person. I’d have to explain somehow to my parents about why I wanted to go to prom, although I remembered my sister going to prom so I knew I had a chance if I presented a good case (yes, with my parents I always need to present a case when I want to do something).

However, I was afraid of being rejected. Now, this is a common fear, but it was exaggerated even more so due to the circumstances of one of my childhood friends.

This guy I had known since the second grade and we even worked at the movie theater together. While we weren’t close friends, by senior year you catch up with random people to see what they are doing. I asked him about prom and he gave me one of those sad, sighing looks. What happened, dude?

It turns out that he was going to ask a girl out on Valentine’s Day, complete with a bouquet of roses. Except he had been working at the movie theater and didn’t have time to buy them to make it on Valentine’s Day. No problem, a day or two late wouldn’t be a big deal in the long run.

So the girl receives the flowers and is wowed by them. She really appreciated his thoughts, but she had to refuse. Why? Because the day before she received the flowers, she had called up a friend in college (a year ahead of us) to ask him to take her to go to prom. He had been one day too late.

Suck.

With this unfortunate incident on my mind, I had to find a girl who I felt comfortable enough to go to prom with. Outside of class, the people who I interacted with most was in Quiz Bowl and Knowledge Master Open. I thought of a girl who I thought it would be cool if we went together. We had been in the same social studies classes for the past six years and even in same period for Mr. Mahaffey’s class.

Finally, I had the opportunity to ask her after school one day. Reading through my journal, it seems I stumbled around until I finally asked if she had a date to prom. When she said no, I asked, “Do you want to go with me?” She laughed and said no, her parents weren’t going to allow her to go to prom. I pressed her for the reasons why, but I never really got an answer.

A bit dejected, I consulted my old, old friend, Father John (future Episcopal priest and the friend that I’ve known the longest, since kindergarten). He suggested I ask one of his debate friends out. I wasn’t too sure about this as I didn’t know her really well, but she was also in Mr. Mahaffey’s class so I went for it.

Politely rejected.

Hmmm, at this point I began to feel the worthlessness of being valedictorian. I mean, dang, what’s the point of studying so hard if I can’t even get a girl to go to prom with me? I told myself I would ask a third girl in my Biology AP class and if I struck out there, I wasn’t going to go to prom. I’d rather stay at home than go stag to prom.

Frustratingly, the third girl wasn’t going to go to prom by her own volition.

After that, I was a bit depressed, actually. I didn’t do anything wrong other than being slightly awkward in how I asked these girls out. I began to regret all those weekends playing Magic and video games and watching anime. On a whim, I called up the puppy Maph (who had not turned into an army man yet).

In my high school days, the puppy Maph was someone you could go to pick yourself up when you were having a bad time. And he did it by being himself. He was enigmatic that way. I called him a puppy and yet he seemed wiser than I could ever be.

We went to the mall to do our usual perusal of the anime at Sam Goody’s and Gamestop. We sat down to eat at the Lucky’s Chinese restaurant where I told him I had struck out asking three girls to prom. He commended me for my courage, which he lacked since he couldn’t quite ask a girl out who had been hinting she wanted to go to prom with him.

Then out of the blue, it happened.

He said what he needed to say.

Daniel, do you know what you need?

No Maph, what do I need? (Normally, if I had been aware, I would have known what was coming but I was so depressed I was just responding mechanically).

You need HOT SEX!

Oh dear, I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so hard in my life. Normally, my Baptist tendencies would require me admonishing him for suggesting premarital sex, but the irony was killing me here.

Anyways, that woke me up enough to really think about giving it another shot. Once I got back up on my horse, I thought of who I could ask. I thought of my time in the Future Business Leaders of America, and there had been a quiet Indian girl who I talked to when we went on competition in order to pass the time.

I knew I’d get too nervous in person so I looked up her number in the student directory. I breathed a deep breath and called her number. I got her dad. I panicked a little, but recovered enough to ask for his daughter.

She came onto the phone, wondering what was up? I didn’t beat around the bush too much and asked her if she was going to prom (yeah, this time I was going to make sure of that fact first before I embarrassed myself again). I asked her if she was going with anyone, and she said no. So um, would you like to go with me?

Silence. Then a “yes”. A “yes”?





YES!!!

Then I probably got excited and started talking too fast about the details of picking her up and everything. She mentioned that she lived near a Motel 8 or something but I wasn’t really paying attention to that as much as the fact that I had finally gotten a prom date.

Convincing my parents was simple. Hey, I’m going to graduate valedictorian and I deserve a little fun. End of story.

I asked one of my old friends, Kevano (a guy I had known since the fourth grade) and learned that there were two places to rent tuxedos. I went for the cheapest tuxedo possible, and they had a pretty good deal as I rented a tuxedo with grey trimmings for forty bucks.

Oh yeah, I had to buy something called a corsage and wear something called a boutonniere. Fortunately, puppy Maph’s mom worked at a flower shop and helped me decide. Did I know what color dress my date was going to wear? Um, no, but I like the orange corsage anyways.

As it turns out, my date bought an orange boutonniere without consulting me. She wore her hair up and a beautiful peach Indian dress. Everyone complimented me on my awesome tuxedo (it was rather dark on the dance floor). So it worked out in the end.

On the day of prom, I was nervous. I had never bothered to put gel in my hair (and still don’t), but I decided the occasion warranted putting gel into my hair. Except, I didn’t know how to use gel properly so I had to ask my dad for help, who laughed at my social ineptness.

I drove to the address she gave me…and I arrived at a Motel 8. The address of the Motel 8 was the address she gave me, which I immediately realized what that meant. I went to the lobby, where I found her dad eyeing me. Yes sir, I’ll have her home by midnight.

How many people can say they picked up their prom date at a motel?

Many people were going to eat dinner before prom with a big group. Most of my inner circle of friends were going to the drama shindig, but I decided to take my date to an Italian restaurant called Taliano’s. It was one of those nicer restaurants that a high school kid should only go to for prom.

Dinner was excellent. The conversation? It was fairly mundane, actually. It was more a first date than anything else.

Prom itself is a sort of a blur. There’s the awkwardness of the people waiting to go to a party where alcoholic beverages were going to be served against the backdrop of some corny slogan. And everywhere were curious people, seeing who would come with who and who would drop who after the first hour of prom.

They announced the awards. I won one for my exploits in Quiz Bowl. I believe if there had been a poll that day, “Hardest Working” and “Most Likely to Succeed” would have gone to me as well.

Then the midnight bell drew nearer and I needed to return my date home. After dutifully doing so, I picked up lucky Andy from the prom site and we went to a chaperoned after-prom party. We hung out with friends and acquaintances, drinking (not in an alcoholic manner) in the last moments of high school before graduation made it official.

I drove back to the site, but the gate was closed at three AM in the morning. Lucky Andy had unluckily left his car there. So there was but one course of action. Crash at my house and retrieve his car the next morning. And it was so.

My prom wasn’t spectacular or exciting, but I’m very happy now that I did go. I wish I would have taken more pictures back then to preserve those memories. As it is, they’re fading away into oblivion.

In retrospect, I would compare my situation to the swing-and-run rule in baseball. When a batter strikes out, if the catcher doesn’t catch the ball cleanly, then the batter has an opportunity to take first base. However, the batter must be aware that the ball was not caught cleanly and get a little lucky with the bounce of the baseball and the throw from the catcher to first.

Someone like me makes it safely to first base.
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July 2009

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