Rachel spun abruptly and looked at me with a furled brow. "Prom. Do you have plans?"
I looked up from trying to frantically finish my US Government assignment before the teacher would ask for them. "Yeah. I plan to go. Didn't I tell you that like, a long time ago?"
"I mean, do you have a DATE?"
"Ohhh. No, no. No one available that I feel inclined to ask. I'm going stag, which is fine."
"You wanna go with me?"
I drew my head back in confusion. "But you're going with Josh. I mean, you guys set that up over a month--"
She rolled her eyes as she interrupted me, "You didn't hear? He's in looooooove." Rach's tone had the distinct tone of sarcasm mixed with annoyance.
I paused momentarily, then felt the light bulb turn on. "Oh. Oh wait, Heather?!"
She nodded. "I'm already halfway done making my dress. All this effort, and I would rather not go alone."
"Yeah, I'll go with you. Give me a piece of the material, and I will try to get a cummerbund and bow tie that matches your dress," I answered, getting back to my homework.
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A few weeks later, I picked up Rach in my 1980 Celica, after a few minutes of social catch up with her mother. Her mom sponsored the creative writing club that I had participated in during junior year. We drove but a few blocks from her neighborhood to an upscale-for-our-town Italian diner. Her friend, Morgan, attending prom stag, joined us.
I don't remember what I ate, but I do remember that both young women had a pasta dish with Italian sausage. This would prove to be important later.
The actual prom was held at the Officer's Club on base. The ten minute drive was casual and familiar, as I worked on base as a bagger at the commissary throughout high school. Rach was her usual, cheery self; we were both nerdy and friendly in our own way, but we were never more than friends. I don't think either of us ever yearned for more over the years.
The dance itself was fun - we did all of the standard stuff, like pictures and drink too much punch. Rach's friend left early, being a little bored, as well as not feeling well. But we socialized with our various circles: band, choir, yearbook, creative writing, and other members of my church youth group. I danced with at least seven other girls besides my date, but it was all consensual since she spread herself around as well. She even snuck one dance with Josh in, while Heather pretended to not care at a table, alone.
At one point, the DJ fired up Smells Like Teen Spirit, and mosh pit was quickly formed on the dance floor. (I can neither confirm nor deny rumours that it was myself, Daniel, and David who started moshing first.) Naturally, the women all fled to edges to watch. When the song finished, the men all stepped off the floor exhausted and sweaty, and several girls started to shriek: there were splotches of blood all over the dance floor.
Oh wait, that isn't blood! Rose petals! Rose petals everywhere! Most of us had inadvertently destroyed our boutonnieres in the mosh pit. We danced on rose petals for the rest of the night.
On the last dance of the night, Rachel was feeling tired. She put her arms around me completely and leaned against my chest like a child falling asleep. No one cares or remembers who won king or queen; we all felt like winners.
The tickets also came with a midnight movie: passes for the legendary Dan Aykroyd comedy released that month, Celtic Pride. Most of us made the trip back into the town to pile into the theatre. A few times, Rach admonished me to drive a little tamer. I hadn't thought I had been driving wildly at all.
Ten minutes into the movie, Rach left for the bathroom...and didn't come back. After 20 minutes, I left the theatre to investigate. Pushing the door to the ladies' room open six inches or so, I called her name.
"I am so sick," she croaked from wherever she was. "I'm sorry, but...you have to take me home."
We made it back to the Celica, and she apologized the whole way. I assured her that I didn't mind. Two blocks from her house, she told me to stop the car. Before I even came to a complete stop, she had her door open, and was vomiting furiously into the street.
She assured me she would call me the next day to tell me her condition. (Her mother ended up calling, as it turned out.) I left her house and headed to Denny's, where I knew people who skipped the movie would be hanging out.
As I approached a booth overflowing with many of my friends, Sabrina greeted me with, "Rachel called it an early night?"
I squeezed in next to her and stole a gulp from her coffee mug. After a moment of contemplation, I answered, "She was so repulsed by me tonight that she literally puked."
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