How to Crush Without Being Crushed

Thanks to the wonders of the Internet, I’m getting back in touch with people from high school I haven’t spoken with in about 15 years. That brings with it a rush of memories, old anxieties and, of course, pictures we all look at and wonder “What was wrong with us?”

Among those pictures, some from my senior prom have come up. None with me in them yet, but still things that would normally stir some vague memories into full-blown reminiscinces.

The problem is, when it comes to the actual night of my senior prom, I’ve got nothing. Not a single memory of anything that went on, no matter how hard I try.

As those who come through here semi-regularly know, high school is one of those touchstones for me. I more or less hated it, but I can’t deny that things that went on there were very formative experiences that (eventually) led me to be who I am now. Chief among those experiences were the numerous dances I attended.

Needless to say, the idea of prom was a big deal for me back then.

I managed to go to three proms while in high school. Of the three, my Junior Prom was OK, nothing spectacular (aside from the neat fountain we built in the school cafeteria… that was kind of awesome) and the one that wasn’t mine, well, I’ve talked about that at length (it was awesome). But my senior prom remains an incongrous blank in my memory.

Leading up to the prom, there was the normal problem of finding a date. As had been the case with the junior prom, I hemmed and hawed and, by the time I get around to asking anyone I was interested in, they were already going with someone else. My buddy Rob handed me a solution to the date issue: he asked me to take his girlfriend, since he couldn’t make it.

That’s right, I was the “safe” date. The unassuming, non-threatening, totally trustworthy schlump who had no reason to not accept the thuroughly non-romantic, non-standard option of going to prom with someone else’s significant other.

Needless to say, I wasn’t exceptionally enthused by the prospect, but I figured it was better than nothing.

Preparations proceeded as normal–tux rental, transportation logistics, plans for after the prom, corsage purchase. I have vague memories of a bunch of us heading to Kutscher’s hotel together (I don’t quite remember who all was there, where we met or what, if anything, we did beforehand). I do remember that Ali looked wonderful (as was to be expected).

And that is pretty much where my memories of my senior prom end.

Now, one would think that I’d really tied one on that night. A legitimate thought as proms are well known for their drunken teenage debauchery. Problem is, back then (as now) I didn’t drink.

Perhaps there was some traumatic event that caused me to blot the evening from my mind in a fit of self-preservation? If so, I’m hard pressed to imagine what that could have been.

The bottom line is, there is a distinctly disconcerting hole in my memory. No doubt there are many of them, but this is one I’m aware of and can’t for thel ife of me fill with even the vaguest bits of anything. This makes it highly unusual.

Now, I remember the day after the prom quite well. I have pictures of that. There was a trip down into Jersey to hit Great Adventure. A wonderfully entertaining ride through the safari there (which gave me the best picture ever of a giraffe–with its head in our vehicle… they apparently mean it when they say “keep your windows rolled up”). I remember leaving and returning to Tina’s place. I remember how much fun it was.

I have no pictures of my own from my senior prom. Oh, I paid for the full set that was offered as part of the prom package. But I never made the connection with Ali to pick them up. Theoretically, she still has them somewhere, probably gathering dust in some long-forgotten trunk.

Maybe some day I’ll see them.

Until then, I’m just curious to see if anyone else has any proof that I actually existed that night.

Because some days, I doubt that I did.

Tags: dance, high school, memories, prom

I’ve been reading through old journals of mine from high school.

Some of it is quite painful. Not just because of my bad spelling and even worse handwriting, but because I had some really seriously depressed times back then. My head was far from screwed on straight and I had very little conscious clue of who I was.

Luckily, every now and then I’d have these bursts of insight. Even better, sometimes I’d actually write them down.

On 18 January, 1991, we were three days into the (First) Gulf War. That night, after school ended, there was a big basketball game followed by a dance. It was probably one of the best nights of my life when I wrote about it the next day (after a decidedly nowhere near as fun or positive evening).

What follows are the minimally edited words from long ago [with some editorial comment].

The game was good, the cheerleaders were good, the pep band was great [I was in the pep band], the Monticello team needs a little work. That’s only because they lost.

Not the dance, that was fun. Although it was only a regular dance with a D.J., not a video dance with a V.J. The music was pretty good.

I spent most of the time going around seeing how everyone else was. Most of the music went by with me standing and trying to talk or with me waling around to the beat. The slow songs, though, i did dance (not that’s a change for the better). Out of three slow songs that were played, I danced for two of them with someone else. The first one was the one I didn’t dance to. The second, I danced with one of the ladies from the cast of the play (I can’t remember her name). [I would remember later that it was Karen... something...] The third (and possibly my favorite) I spent with Sarah.

[We'll skip the who else was dancing with who and some proto-snarky observations. I wasn't witty enough then to be really snarky.]

Now we’ll save the dance from tonight [that's the one that really wasn't very good for me] until tomorrow. Right now, I want to talk about someone I’ve mentioned before and whom I consider important to my life. Sarah. [nope, not going to use her last name]

Sarah was one of the few truly wonderful people I met when I was in Oliver. [That would be the first play I did during my freshman year.] This year, we became a little closer and she read some of my poems. She is also one of the few people that actually understand and can feel my poems’ message. It is this that makes her, along with Kristin and Jill and very few others, truly special to me.

While she is physically attractive, she has a beautiful soul. Her attitude is at least as positive as mine. [When I was having a positive attitude day... I apparently had some short-term memory issues or something. *grin*] Her ideals also appear to be strong. She’s one of those people that almost eveyrone else is comfortable around. i feel I can put m trust in her.

While Kerry can be counted as the first girl I ever danced with, Sarah is the first that I ever asked and was accepted.

She would, indeed, be very important to me. Without question, she’s one of the people that helped me survive the very rough years that would follow–sometimes by just being there, other times by giving me bright moments like the one above to focus on when things got very, very dark.

We all need to remember that everything passes. We choose what we remember, what we hold on to. Given that choice, it is frightening how often we choose the negative, the dark, the hurtful. Right up until we can’t take it any more… then we remember those points of brightness and they lead us back out of the dark.

Being able to use those good points as guideposts is another one of the keys to learning about yourself through your relationships. When those real moments happen, make note of them. Put them somewhere you’ll be able to look back at when life gets dusky and the world gets heavy on your shoulders. They will serve as triggers to remind you of what you’ve done right… and of how good things can be.

The Universe has seen fit to bring Sarah back into my circle of contacts. Even if we don’t talk much and have yet to actually see one another again, it’s good to know those embers of friendship from so long ago haven’t died out. This makes me very happy.

Tags: dance, firsts, introspection