Chapter 4: Red Dresses and Realizations

Our Senior Ball that Spring was everything you think a prom or ball or big dance in high school would be. I had expectations that were grandiose: the perfect gown, perfect date, perfect hair, perfect limo, perfect fancy dinner and the rush and excitement of falling in love like only 17 year olds can... with sheer abandon and complete drama. Reality was exactly what you would expect as well. A nice boy who I had dated all year and with whom I was in a comfortable albeit calm romance with, in his Ford Escort that he worked so hard to afford. A dress that, while in my mind turned me into Cindy Crawford, in actuality just made me look like a dressed-up, cleaned-up version of myself. Nerves made me bitchy to my parents who, I was sure, were probably hoping to snap pictures and freeze this moment in their brains as one of the pinnacles of parenthood. They probably wanted to reminisce over red wine after I left for the evening about my first steps, first day of kindergarten, first lost tooth and how how quickly I had grown up into a super model/super cool and totally together young woman. Instead, they still probably had the wine, but most likely collapsed together in a heap on the couch with a calendar so they could count down the days until I left for college. See, I wasn't very nice prior to the night of the ball with my parade of demands for hair, nails, jewelry, shoes, dress, bag, lipstick etc. etc. etc. My hair turned out fine, the chicken I ate was fine, the pictures were fine, the dancing was fine and the post ball celebratory activities were fine as well. All of it was fine. Except for one little thing that nagged my mind all night. One little detail of the evening that I just couldn't quite forget about. I couldn't let it go. It just pecked at my conscience like a little chicken...peck peck peck.

See,... Mike Meeker, my now friend from English class, sat at our table during dinner with his date. Well, let me rephrase. Mike Meeker sat at our table during dinner with the boobs of his date in the chair beside him. I'm sure the girl was somewhere...off powdering her nose or visiting with friends three tables over, whatever. But her boobs. They just sat there next to Mike. When I thought about my Diet Coke from dinner, there was Mike Meeker and his date's boobs. When I thought about how cool it was that our class chose to all have dinner together at the hotel that the dance was held at instead of all going our own way to different restaurants, there were those boobs again. Floating through my brain like two, well... boobs. And a red dress. I distinctly remember a red dress. And Mike Meeker...with a big doofey smile plastered on his face the whole night. The boobs or the doofey smile. I couldn't decide what was bugging me more as I thought of my senior ball night. It's still to this day the thing I remember from that evening.

What was wrong with me? Mike was just my friend. And not a "do stuff outside of school" friend even. Just a nice boy I sat next to in English. My boyfriend Kelly and my friend Janina got moved to the other side of the classroom from Mike and I earlier in the year. Mrs. Santora got sick and tired of the four of us talking all the time and disrupting class. I guess it didn't make sense to move me and Kelly (boyfriend/girlfriend) or move me and Janina (girlfriends) so she put Janina and Kelly on one side of the classroom and me and Mike on the other. So we had months now of talking and joking around, but it was mostly me giving him girl advice about this SKANK from another school he had been dating and who I had taken a vow to save him from. (sorry to the skank if today you are a nice mother of three and live in the suburbs, but in 1989 you were a skank). And he would occasionally get an ear full about a fight Kelly and I got into and he would always take my side and tell me that I didn't deserve a boyfriend who treated me that way. (note: Kelly was actually a really nice guy and a great friend but we got into the typical teenage boyfriend/girlfriend super-drama fights that teach you how NOT to fight with your spouse someday). Mike and I just talked about stuff like college and sports and when Mike sprained his ankle that March, I gave him rides home and stuff but it was just a class friend thing and that's IT. So why couldn't I get the boobs and red dress and his stupid matching red tie and cumberbun and doofey big grin off my mind? What did I care if his date decided to come to Senior Ball in a red satin towel tied from the waist down? More power to Mike right? Go for it dude! Smile away! But my brain just wouldn't let me wish him well and go on my merry way. It drove me crazy. Why did he take a girl who would wear a dress like that to the biggest event of our lives? What was their "status" now? Was he going with her? Was it just a one night thing? Oh GOSH! What if it WAS just a one night thing? What happened in that one night? Mike's a nice guy. Surely nothing happened! Surely he gave her his tuxedo jacket and told her "in the name of all that is decent - cover yourself, madam!" Mike was a boy with morals and was probably right now praying and taking a vow to stay away from all red dresses forevermore. Who was I kidding? Oh crap, why did I care? And why, on Monday, as I walked into 3rd period English was my voice so high and my palms so sweaty and why did I all of a sudden HAVE to know every detail of their evening and why oh why was I stopping on my way to class to put on lip gloss and smell my armpits which were now sopping wet? Is it hot in here?

"Uh oh. I love Kelly. I am Kelly's girlfriend. I am half of a couple. We have mutual friends. Kelly is my best friend. He loves me. He's a GREAT boyfriend. Mike Meeker the Geeker Seeker...Mike Meeker the Geeker Seeker... MIKE MEEKER THE GEEKER SEEKER. Come on Amy... GET A GRIP!"

"... oh crap... "