Had a flashback today… in my later high school years, I invited a girl I liked to go to one of the Significant Dances that my school sponsored – as opposed to the High Schools that make every dance a major event…
We had 2.
As I said, I liked the girl, but didn’t really have delusions of grandeur or thoughts that Somehow, Someway, she’d get the hots for me. I thought she was fun to hang out with. So I asked her to the dance.
We went in street clothes (vs. tuxedo & gown) to dinner at Two Guys from Italy on the corner of Moana & South Virginia (it’s gone now…) I thought Irish coffee sounded really good, so I ordered 2 – had no idea that it had whiskey in it. And the fool waiter brought them without even asking for or checking ID’s… with 2 refills each. I only found out that they had whiskey when my nose started feeling fuzzy, & the bill was $3 for each of the specialty drinks (true, inexpensive, but this was 1987. The Old Days.) I thought that a good time was had by all.
We went back to her place & changed into our specialty outfits… & went to the dance. And sat. Turns out, once we got TO the dance, she didn’t WANT to dance. Said her feet hurt. And she was tired. So she sat at a table & talked to her friends. Sigh.
I didn’t quite know what went wrong – she wouldn’t even get pictures to commemorate our great evening… I kept checking in about every 10 minutes to see if she changed her mind. She didn’t. It was rough. I had the distinct feeling that something else was going on, but she said it wasn’t me, it was her. Tired. Feet hurt. Etc.
I took her home about 90 minutes later, & our plan was to change our clothes out of the monkey suits into our street clothes, & then to go hang out with friends. (Meaning people that wanted to be sober, eat cool snax, & have lots of fun. Watch movies.) I changed my clothes, & waited for her in the living room for 15 minutes. 30 minutes. 45 minutes. 90 minutes. And waited. I passed the time by watching TV, but grew more & more impatient. Finally, her mom came out to get some water; she didn’t know I was there… (Mental picture that still haunts me.) She asked, “What are you doing?” I explained that I was waiting for her daughter to come out so we could resume our activities for the evening. She went into her daughters room, & came out immediately – embarrassed. Sheepish. She whispered, “I’m sorry. She went to bed.”
Hmm. Later on, I heard rumors from others on the stories that she had told about her “hellish, terrible night” out with me. How stupid I looked. How lame the evening was. How bad dinner was (of which she ate 3 courses…) But every time I asked her about it, she just said, “Oh, I was tired. My feet hurt.” Even though I knew that she was telling a different story to others.
I’ve often wondered why she didn’t deem me worthy of the truth that she so willingly told her friends: She didn’t really want to go out with me, but didn’t want to miss the dance. I was a means to an end. The truth would have been appreciated.