A Sunday Love Story (part 3):Corsages and Ladybugs

(If you missed part one or part two, I recommend starting there first.)

So it was settled: we were going to the Homecoming dance together, and I had my first official, bona fide, absolutely 100% for real high school date. The other boyfriends I'd had to this point, of course, were of the wonderful junior high school variety--holding hands in the halls, talking about pointless things on the telephone until late at night, but never actually seeing each other outside of school walls. But now? This was the big league. I was going to the show.

As it turns out, there were a few small glitches.

Glitch #1: Chris already had a date to Homecoming when he asked me. He told me this a few days later, assuring me it was one of those casual "unless either of us finds someone better to go with" kinds of dates. I didn't tell him at the time that while to a fifteen year old boy it might be an "unless either of us finds someone better to go with" date, to a girl it's always a "thank goodness I have a cute date to Homecoming and don't have to worry about being asked anymore" kind of date. Why would I tell him that? He would have most certainly gone with the other girl out of a sense of duty and not wanting to hurt her feelings, and I just couldn't have that now, could I? I thought you'd agree. So he told date #1 the plan was off, and she was mostly gracious about it and eventually found another date.

Glitch #2: Neither of us were old enough to drive. Chris was two weeks away from his 16th birthday, and I was still a sweet and innocent 14. Chris arranged for us to double with one of his good friends who had just passed his driver's test and another girl from church. Transportation crises averted.

Glitch #3: I was scared out of my mind. As the day approached, when I thought of it something would catch in my stomach, like a hot stone had lodged there. I'd seen all the teen films of the 80's. I knew what a real date looked like. But I couldn't imagine myself on one of them--an actual restaurant, a corsage, my best behavior. Would I have to let him open doors for me? Pull out my chair? How was I supposed to know what to order? Did I just assume he was paying? Should I offer? How much money did I have that month in my allowance jar, anyway? I was plagued. My hands were shaking so much the night of the dance I had to style my hair three different times (and seriously, looking at the picture now: that hair? Really? On purpose?). This is the only picture I have of the big event. You'll notice my cheeks are flushed poppy red; I remember the heat in them the whole time parents were snapping pictures and sending us off. My friend M. and I are sporting some pretty amazing floral numbers--though I think I get extra points for the jumper and black flats. And Chris' sweater--wish we still had that thing. It would come in handy at one of those Christmas ugly sweater parties:



As it turns out, things with Chris were almost immediately comfortable. We went to dinner and laughed, albeit nervously. He pulled the chivalrous door-opening stunt a few times before I told him how entirely unnecessary it was (I probably saved my entire feminist rant for a few dates later). When we got to the school-cafeteria-turned-dance-club, with disco ball to boot, I can honestly say I was in one of those 80s teen romance movies. Slow song plays, music swells, camera zooms in on the happy couple while the rest of the crowd disappears. Who doesn't have a high school infatuation memory like that one? I broke away from him once to use the bathroom and I remember walking out the girls room, looking around the high school commons and thinking this is my life. The only only boy I want in the world and he's here, with me.

We walked out into the courtyard (the same that only the year before was the smoking area for students 18 and older--remember those days?) and sat on one of the benches away from the door. I could hear the music leaking out from the cafeteria, and I played with my wrist corsage while we sat in silence. Chris found a ladybug and let it walk over his fingers, turning his hand over and over again to let it walk in slow circles. He was as intent on the red bug as I was on my corsage when he looked up at me and asked if I'd be his girlfriend.

We held hands as we walked back into the building. I owned the world. Music rises, camera pans in on smiling teenage girl, credits roll.

Except, of course, the credits didn't roll. The drama was just beginning. Next week's installment: a first kiss, a break up, a make-up, and a run-in with the police at two in the morning. Oh, yeah. It's that good.