High school trauma, part 2

For those of you who are curious, no, I did not go to the prom with my head held high and my awesome dress that I made out of another dress that my drunk, depressed father bought for me and then made out with my one true love in the parking lot...oh wait, that's "Pretty in Pink." Never mind. I went to Atlanta with my friend E and her mom and we stayed in a hotel and spent the weekend shopping which was as fun as the prom, if not more.

So I finally got past the 11th grade trauma and embarrassment by the time it was spring of my senior year. I don't exactly remember what my prom plans were that year but surely, surely, I wasn't planning to ask any other loser boys from my school. At some point, I had heard through the grapevine that T was going to ask me to the prom. Keep in mind, he had already been turned down by 2 other girls so I was the next on his list. T and I had kind of a competitive friendship deal going on in that we both played the piano and he had been in the marching band with me one year. I was sitting in Pottery and Ceramics that April afternoon, waiting for the day to end. (and yes, I took that class simply so I could make an A in it, exempt my final and get to end the school year that much more quickly). T came in from yearbook staff or something and came over to me. My heart was pounding because I knew what he was going to ask and sure enough, "Allison, do you want to go to the prom with me?" All the other, more popular girls in my class who had boyfriends squealed and came over as soon as he left. "What did he want? Did he ask you to the prom? What did you say?" I told them that yes, he did ask me and yes, I was going to go and they acted excited but I wondered if they were really making fun of me. Looking back, I'm not quite sure why I was hanging all of this importance on going to the prom as I BARELY dated in high school and I don't know why I thought it was such a big deal. I think it was that there was this entire culture of high school that I observed daily but did not participate in and I always wondered what it would be like to be part of this "group."

My mom and I went to Atlanta to find my dress, which we did, at Lord and Taylor. It was a black, beaded t shirt style dress that screamed OLD LADY but it was comfortable. I told T that I wanted to get our pictures made by the professional photographer who took my senior pictures and he grudgingly agreed. I told T that I wanted to eat dinner at Callaway Gardens but he insisted that we eat at some restaurant in our town. I talked my friend E into asking a guy to the prom ( I think) so we could double date. Of course, T and her date were not friends and had nothing in common but whatever.

The afternoon of the prom, I started getting ready. I even had fake fingernails for the occasion. These were not acrylics or gel nails....no. These were Lee Press-on Nails and they were about 2 inches long. I painted them blood red. My hair was piled on top of my head and my mom had to help me put my pantyhose on so I wouldn't jam my fingernail through them. I put my beaded dress on and my matching black beaded shoes that cost $75 but I begged my mom for them because "they matched perfectly!" and dangly rhinestone earrings.

T arrived in his green Saab and we took the obligatory pictures in the living room. We left, picked up E and her date and went back to T's house so his mom could see us and then we drove down to the next little town to get our pictures made. In our picture, we are standing on a black and white checkerboard floor with metallic silver and black balloons hanging from the ceiling. My fingernails look like claws clutched in T's hand and I am standing a full head taller than he was. Then at dinner, there was a whole herd of prom goers from my school who were all there together and I wished we were with them. Not that I was friends with them but at that point, I wished I wasn't with T. The conversation was less than scintillating and T forced me to try his specialty, "butter sandwiches" which were captain's wafers with butter spread between them. Ugh. At some point, I had to use the restroom and I had to get E to come help me pull my pantyhose back up.

After dinner and I am not really sure why we decided to do this, we went to the golf course and walked all around it in the dark. I heard something in the bushes and grabbed T's hand. Finally, at 11, I suggested that we go to the prom, since after all, wasn't that why we were all dressed up in the first place? We went over to the school, observed some drunk kids puking in the parking lot and headed to the gym. When I moved up here to NC, I found out that proms are held at hotels or Bobcats Arena or Bank of America stadium. I thought they were always in the gym of the high school. I can't remember the theme but there was a metallic silver skyline and some weird walkway and a deafening band. T was a member of the chorus and kept executing his dance moves from their spring production, a lot of which included jazz hands. Finally, mercifully, it was over.

We went back to my house to change for the after prom breakfast and I started getting worried. What if T tried to kiss me? What if he wanted to go out with me again? I did not want either of these to occur. I have no memory of what we did at the breakfast other than it being dark and there being extremely loud music. T kept acting amorous and finally, I told him I was ready to go home because I thought I was going to throw up. I complained about my stomach hurting the entire way back to my house and practically ran down the sidewalk with him hurrying after me. "Okay, well, good night, thanks for everything!" I exclaimed as I shut the door on his grinning, hopeful face.

I went upstairs and poured an entire bottle of nail polish remover in the sink and soaked my Lee Press-on Nails until they dissolved. Prom night was over. And I couldn't have been more relieved.