Tonight I shall continue to recall past events so that I may not have to revisit them during my future at Susquehanna University. I have chosen to replace all of the names in this entry, for reasons that I do not completely understand. I have been single ever since last October, when my first serious relationship ended in precisely the sort of way that one always hopes it will not (i.e., with a text message from her). Therefore, two weeks before my senior prom, I still did not have a date. Since I went to a high school exclusively for boys, this search for a date was exactly the sort of teen drama--the kind you see endlessly powdered and presented on the CW--that I had always hoped to avoid. The situation could have been more cliché only if I had suddenly found a zit on my face at the last possible moment before the prom. As it turned out, I never found that blemish, but I did find a date. As I was leaving school one day, I ran into my friend Miranda, and we immediately started catching up because we do not see each other often. During my senior year, I had mostly gotten to know her through speech tournaments, because she was also in the category of Duo Interpretation. When we came to the subject of the prom, she asked who my date was, and my response was something to the effect of: "Yeah, um, you see, I haven't exactly worked that out yet." Within seconds, the matter was settled. I would take her to my senior prom. Little did we know then what sort of clever union of tension builder and ice maker we had accidentally created, but it didn't take us too long to figure out. In fact, we discussed it with a lot of laughter on the car trip to the event. You see, we each had our own sordid past in our little high school community, and together we were a force to be reckoned with.
I first realized the happy accident when one day my friend Luigi approached me in the hallway. We greeted each other as warmly as ever, and at first I had no idea what he had on his mind. Then he spoke. He said, "So, Will, I heard that you're taking my ex-girlfriend to the prom." I do not recall my exact reaction, but I think that it is safe to say that I probably laughed openly, the same way that I laugh whenever I think about it. I'm sure that it was okay to laugh, because their relationship ended something like two years ago, and I believe that he ended it. Quite frankly, I didn't know these people back then, so I'm not entirely sure of the details. I do know, however, that Miranda has had dates or other relations with a few other students at my high school, including my classmate Blake. (I'm not being clever about these fake names at all. Take my word for it.) According to my understanding, this encounter with Blake led to the end of her relationship with Luigi. Blake and Luigi, of course, were both at my senior prom. At this point, I hope that you are beginning to understand that Miranda and I might cause tension or awkwardness at the prom, but we knew we could love every minute of it. Also, at this point, I realize that all this information may start to confuse you. I'm afraid that I can take no measures to prevent that. I am describing, to the best of my knowledge, not one but two sordid pasts, and all of these names and facts are bound to get mixed up because they're all new to you. That doesn't matter, because I'm making a point. It doesn't matter who dated whom. What matters is that I demonstrate what long, strange histories my date and I each had. Now, where was I in this avalanche of code names and details? Oh, that's right. I was just about to tell you about my history.
I only had that one relationship in my whole time at high school, but it's funny how just one relationship can spread like an airborne contagion and create so much tension. For almost a year, mostly as a junior, I dated a girl named Tracy in what can best be described as an "is it on now or off again" relationship. Over eleven months, our relationship was put on hold, shifted around with other priorities, put in time out, delayed for rain, and finally ended. The break-up sent me spiraling into a heap of loathing, from which I eventually emerged the more bitter, more cynical, more laid back person that I am today. (I like the new me, by the way.) A few months later, Tracy started going out with one of my classmates. I think I'll call him Humbert. Yes, the name Humbert fits very nicely. I hardly noticed Humbert throughout three and a half years of high school. He was barely an acquaintance of mine. Then, he started dating my ex-girlfriend, and suddenly I started seeing him everywhere. I had no idea that he often used to hang around with my friends, especially my Duo partner. There's no point in changing Joe's name, because I've already used it many times in previous entries in the context of Duo. Anyway, Joe was still going out with a girl named Molly, a close friend of Tracy, which means that Joe started hanging around with Humbert and Tracy's crew a lot more than he spent time with me. And, of course, they were all going to the prom in a limo together. The most difficult part of preparing for the prom was deciding who would sit at our table. My close friend Esteban insisted on sitting with me, and I gladly agreed. Unfortunately, even though I made a lot of friends in high school, not many of them are well liked by Esteban. After much deliberation, we came up with three other names that reduced the awkwardness and maximized the fun at our table.
Our prom was held at the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel in New York City, which was extremely classy and downright elegant. Personally, I bought my own tuxedo rather than renting one. Of course, I shouldn't say that I bought it. I've never earned a dollar in my life. My parents bought it for me, because my mother said that renting one would be almost as expensive. Miranda wore a lovely orange dress, which was a nice coincidence for me because orange is one of the school colors at Susquehanna University. (Those colors, by the way, are maroon and orange. I realize how atrocious that sounds. They realize it, too. But it's much better than you might think.) Our professional couple's photograph turned out very nicely. In fact, it looks much nicer than any prom photo should. What the heck am I going to look at and laugh about several years from now? I guess my yearbook will have to suffice. The prom was a pleasant event, even a night to remember (once in a while). I danced quite a lot, even though I usually don't do that. I'm very lanky and uncoordinated, especially on the dance floor. There was even a dance contest. I had enough sense to avoid participation, but I had a lot of fun in the crowd cheering for my favorite pair of dancers. After the prom, some friends and I went to a bowling alley and then went our separate ways. Miranda and I didn't cause any scenes. We did, however, have a few good laughs at the expense of others--those who had wronged us in the past and then came face-to-face with us again on what was supposed to be the happiest, most exciting night of their young lives. If the whole night was a movie or an awful teen drama on the CW, I'd like to think that we were the two outcasts who showed up fashionably late in order to have fun and knock the popular kids down a few pegs. At dinner, my friends and I even discussed who would play us if we were roles in a movie. My friend Lorenzo (I would never change Lorenzo's name) told me that I could be played by Michael Cera. "But he only plays geeky, pale, awkward, sad characters," I replied. He only laughed and said, "Yeah, exactly."
End Post.
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