During the course of your Slidell High career, did you rent a tuxedo or buy a schmancy dress to wear to a dance? Do you remember whether those “magical evenings” met all the expectations you had for them? Do you look back at your photographs of those evenings with fondness or bewilderment?
It’s possible that the great expectations sprouted from the great amount of money we spent on such events. But many of us refused to consider the possibility that we didn’t have to go. Senior prom is such a well-respected institution that charities exist for the sole purpose of providing dresses to poor girls. The Glass Slipper Project is one group that lets people donate their dresses and help “make prom dreams come true.”
What were your prom dreams—do you remember? Did you go? Which ones of your dreams came true? I suppose my most important dream came true: I got a date. During the four months preceding prom season, I was lucky enough to be seeing, rather casually, someone from another high school. We would sprawl on his bedroom floor next to his stereo speakers and listen to music. I ate asparagus for the first time at his family’s dinner table. When prom time arrived and our proms were scheduled for the same night, I don’t think either of us even asked the big question: we assumed we’d go together.
As many of us expected we’d do on prom night, we first ate dinner at a restaurant in New Orleans, where we also drank champagne. (They served us champagne?) On the way back to town, we stopped at the Slidell restaurant where Dateboy had earned the money to pay for our extravagant meal. Everyone there admired our prom beauty.
That visit made us late. I was so late for the prom-night presentations that a teacher scolded me upon our arrival. We didn’t even have time to take photos in the area decorated for the purpose. I hopped on stage and read a schlocky speech that no one heard.
When I returned from the stage, Dateboy had turned morose. The corners of his mouth pulled down into a sulk. I naturally assumed that he felt self-conscious or excluded. I hooked my arm through his and asked him to dance; he declined. I said to my friend Michelle, “Doesn’t he look handsome tonight?” Dateboy stood silent. I don’t doubt that I tried to bat my eyelashes coquettishly. In a few minutes, we left for his school’s dance.
Once there, we didn’t dance or chat. Dateboy led me to a quiet corner of the hotel lobby, where we sat on a cushioned bench. He explained that he didn’t want to date me any more. I was in tears almost immediately. I didn’t feel my heart breaking as much as I felt my mind spinning in confusion. Dateboy said, among other things, “I cannot be the person you want me to be.” He drove me home, and on the one night my strict mother gave me permission to party ‘til dawn, I was crying in our kitchen by 1 a.m.
I can’t articulate now any more than I could then what I’d expected from my prom night. I certainly had not planned to have sex with Dateboy. I don’t think I’d believed that Dateboy and I would be closer in spirit after seeing each other in formal wear. I know I’d expected to pose for photos in my strapless black dress. I’m sure I thought I’d tower over Dateboy for a slow dance or two and maybe do the Bird to Morris Day and the Time.
Not quite two months after our sad separation, Dateboy gave me a call. A group of us were planning to go dancing in New Orleans, and he wanted to talk to me before we met the others. It was our first time to speak since prom night. We went to my bedroom, closed the door, and sat across from each other on my bed.
“The bar where we’re going tonight isn’t just a regular bar, and my friend you’re going to meet isn’t just a friend. Do you know what I’m trying to say?”
Surprisingly, I did: he was gay. Dateboy was gay, and he was coming out to me, which was probably as traumatic to him as my sort-of boyfriend breaking up with me on prom night was to me. (Or more?) It was then that his breakup speech made sense to me for the first time.
You’ll be relieved to learn that I was able to wear that black dress again for another dance about a year later. And I’d certainly never expected that!
