The problem with going to prom with your friends is the limo. And the problem with that is the order in which everyone wants to be picked up in. No one wants to go first, and everyone wants to be last.
For weeks prior, passive aggressive text messages were exchanged between the 6 of us and reluctantly, Harley ended up going first with Megan being picked up last before our 2 hour journey began to the Prom venue (ask the prom committee why they picked a destination two hours away).
As the limo progressed through the 6 homes, we became increasingly intoxicated at each drinking spritzers and cheap liquor. At the last home we stocked up on alcohol, posed for about a thousand more photographs and were finally on our way.
Eventually, after a two-hour journey in a limo of 12 people we arrived, an hour late of course thanks to a flat tyre in the blatant countryside and an emergency petrol stop. We fell out of the limo, looking more bedraggled than before, if that’s possible. I made a desperate attempt to rescue my hair in the nearest mirror, failing miserably leaving my long strands to fall helplessly around my dress. At that point the only thing stopping me from breaking the mirror was the thought of another 7 years of bad luck.
Almost immediately I lost my date, he who had just recently became an acquaintance had disappeared, and despite him being my date, I was relieved. That was until it was time to go for dinner, and I barely found him again in time to walk down the grand staircase along with the other 200 identical coupled clones. And that’s when I saw him- Dick, just my luck that he was seated at the table next to me. Fantastic. Our soup had barely reached the table when my date disappeared again, and promised to be right back. It was when the soup had gone cold that he finally reappeared to gulp down the cold broth. He had barely finished before he decided to perform his Houdini disappearing act again. I didn’t see him again until after desert. And I sat there like an idiot, in front of Dick and the 5 couples at my table.
I found refuge from embarrassment in the bathroom, whilst, unbeknownst to me, my friends went looking for my disappearing date. As I was leaving the bathroom I ran into them both- the friend and Houdini.
“Where were you!” I exploded at him. Of course, he gave some pathetic excuse about how his friend got into a fight and him being the full-time knight in shining armour (and part- time Samaritan) that he was, went to his rescue. (This is where the seemingly trivial point made in my previous post comes in.) Of course, this could be true. I could be wrong. But of course, I thought it was a lie.
With what I can only describe as a grimace on my face, I walked back to our table. With every step I took repeating like a mantra in my head the words “Get. Me. Out. Of. Here.”
I barely made it through the announcement of prom king and queen before sprinting off with my free shot into the darkness of the nightclub away from Houdini and his lingering hand. I spent the rest of that night with my friends, dancing, reminiscing about our school years- both the bad and embarrassing, exchanging grades and congratulations and wondering what the future holds. It felt like the night would never end- truly, it was 6 o’ clock the next morning by the time we crawled into the coaches to take us home- back to reality, back to the future, back to new beginnings.
I never spoke to Houdini again. His “sincere” concern for my safety the next morning was touching, truly. My excuse for not running into him for the rest of the night however was somewhat less convincing.
I had about a week to prepare for college after that night, just about enough time to sleep off the hangover and repair the damage done to my feet after 12 hours in heels. For some of us, it was the last time we’d probably ever see each other. Most of us didn’t realise it, because it didn’t feel like that, it didn’t feel like the end of a chapter.