I haven’t danced around other people since I was mocked for doing so. Prior to that, I didn’t really think much about it, especially when it came to the dances of the high-school variety. Rather than even try to find a date, I spent all my time crying that I couldn’t find a date. There were a few exceptions.
There was only one person I wanted to take to senior Prom. She wasn’t one of my crushes (who I was “in love” with), but rather a friend I had gotten very close to. I don’t know why I never fell for her. She was beautiful, she had a sexy voice and accent, and she was fascinated by me. We had a spot where we retreated twice a week and were completely open with each other. I would have shown her the time of her life, but she was taken.
Instead of finding someone just good enough, I spent Prom night with Shane, at a pizza parlor, playing Samurai Showdown 2 for hours. I have sincerely never regretted this.
I have been to zero proms and one Spring Fling that took place in an alternate universe where everything was made of fun. We occupied our own corner of the floor and danced with a tenacity that’s difficult to describe. We found out that the DJ wouldn’t play “Tequila,” because it promoted alcohol, but had no problem with spinning “Insane in the Membrane.”
I have been to three Homecomings. One went so horribly wrong, I was grounded for two weeks, and my dad hit me. (To be clear, my dad never hit me. He raged, but he never laid a hand on me, except that once, and I deserved it.)
The other was years after I graduated. This was almost as much fun as Spring Fling. My date and I were friends who barely knew each other. We just clicked. We weren’t romantic, just flirty. I was popular because I was the only male on the dance floor. While the boys mocked me, their girlfriends surrounded me. There were some slow dances, both with my date and her friends.
It’s the third one that really sticks with me. As usual, I was too timid to ask anyone to the dance, so I wasn’t planning to go. Boone (as Severa was known back then), was in love with this one girl. She really wanted to go with him, but her cousin was in town. He volunteered me.
I was expecting her to lack at least one of the following: Looks, brains, or sense of humor. Yes, I was shallow, but if a beautiful woman bored me, I’d wander off without looking back. We drove out of town to pick them up, and his date answered the door. She was attractive—she wasn’t stunning, but I could easily get used to that smile. She invited us in, and Boone was ambushed with flashes. The thing about Boone was that he hated to be photographed, even if it was her date’s family, and he was trying to make a good impression.
Patiently, I waited for her good-enough cousin to show up. What I wasn’t expecting was an ethereal being. Her dress was Lavender, and her sandy-blonde hair was swept up, leaving a few strands to dangle precisely. Her eyes were a striking glacier blue, her nose was delicate, her skin glowed, and she was smiling at me, like she hit the jackpot. She held an elbow out, and I didn’t get it, so she took mine and led me on a night of pure magic.
Who was this woman? Because she was a woman. She was eighteen, and we were only sixteen. Unlike most girls, she paid more attention to me than Boone, though she was a pro at playing the whole pack. We danced like the floor was electrified, except when it was slow, when I held onto her waist and couldn’t believe what was happening to me.
There are two moments that endure the fog of thirty-five years. The first was a slow dance to “Lady in Red” by Chris DeBurgh, which was the kind of moment I’d hoped for since I started noticing girls.
The second was pure art. The four of us were taking a much-needed break. When my date turned out to be a Dave Barry fan, I promised her I’d find the postcard I’d received from him, which I never left home without. (It read, “Dear Jeremiah, You are clearly a deranged person. This is a good thing. Dave.”)
While we were chatting, she swept up a handful of glitter into her white-gloved hand and blew it on her cousin. It was a perfect moment. I’d never seen anything so beautiful in my life, and it has since only been topped once.
When the dance was over, we laughed some more at Kristy’s until my curfew assaulted us. I couldn’t get her out of my head or her address out of him, Whenever I asked, he got really cagey about it. It turned out he was actually in love with my date the whole time, so he was cock-blocking me.
This guy, who loved Nirvana, Ministry, and Megadeth, bought Chris DeBurgh’s album and listened to that one song over and over again, picturing the glitter and her cranberry lips catching the light bouncing off the disco ball. In the wisdom that comes with age, I have come to realize this was the best thing that could have happened. I never got the chance to ruin everything.
As a result, I lived like Cinderella for a night. Instead of being an awkward, rude, self-absorbed little twerp, I was charming, good-looking, and a great dancer. I danced with the princess at the ball, but the clock struck midnight. Our carriage turned into a beaten-up pickup. I was just a nerd in his speech-and-debate suit, and my princess walked away forever. No shoe made of a weird material was going to bring her back.
I can’t remember her name.
