My alarm starts blaring at
Timbow told me he’d need about an hour, so I go back upstairs and get back into bed with Curtis, who seems to have never woken. Lying there, I envision how the night will hopefully go once she and I arrive, wondering if it will be awkward or unamusing, hoping for the opposite of course. She being Lauren Whitney Kirk, a brunette 10th grader with prom experience whom I’ve known since she was in fifth grade, and I being Joshua Aaron Moore, the first-time prom-goer who was left dateless via lesbianism and was happy to just be going with someone at all, let alone someone I find enthralling.
The time passes, and I make Curtis get up and we bolt out the door about 25 minutes before Timbow said he’d be ready. I’m eager to start to start washing the coal truck. I’m ready to start preparing for my senior prom night.
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The day began with humor wrought by youth.
“I’ll kick your ass,” my little nephew Doyle David told his father, Doyle Moore, as he hopped into the back of Doyle’s truck. Doyle was speaking to one of his drivers. Curtis and I couldn’t help but chuckle profusely at the lack of shamelessness the little guy running around in clothes that barely fit his chubby frame exhibited as he continued to talk about how he wanted to drive a truck one day.
“No you don’t, you want to get you an education,” his father told him. My dad always told me that growing up, too. I never wanted to drive a coal truck my whole life, though.
I was, however, in addition to making an extremely memorable entrance to what would surely be a memorable night, looking for a way to honor my upbringing. 95% of what I own was bought with money produced from coal trucks, in some form or fashion. Arriving to prom in a diesel-fueled machine would kill two birds with one stone.
After watching Doyle and Doyle David for a few minutes, Curtis and I went back to my jeep to rest up some more while we waited for Timbow to arrive in his rig. It would be about 30 more minutes before he would arrive in his big orange machine. When that time came, Doyle had left with his son and for a little while, it was just me, Curtis and that tangerine colored monster, which while caked in mud and black streaks of acidic waste, still showcased a promise of beauty that I hoped would foreshadow good things to come.
******************
Despite my mom insisting it would take a good deal of time, I did not imagine Curtis and myself would spend roughly 5 and ½ hours washing that coal truck.
The ugliest part of cleaning the 15-ton Peterbilt, at least in terms of making a mess and injuring ourselves, was also the first part – using a pressure washer to strip the mud away from the coal truck’s exterior. Not only did the escaping residue find home on our t-shirts, shorts and shoes, but much of the dirt particles managed to also fixate themselves into our eyes, causing massive redness to apparently accumulate around my own, according to Curtis anyway. Alas, if I’d gone blind, I was going to get the job done and get it done right.
Once the pressure-washing was completed, not only did the remaining clean-up feel much easier, but the whole mood transformed from a gritty, silent one to a chipper, talkative one. It’s hard to recount the conversations that take place between truck-drivers when they’re assembled together to help service one of their rigs, but I feel like there’s a brotherhood there that itself needs to be written about via infiltration, i.e. Hunter S. Thompson’s “Hells Angels”. I digress, though. They can be a rough, but hardy bunch. At some point the words “Fuck limousines. This cost a whole lot more than a damn limousine” were spoken – possibly some of my favorite dialogue ever.
By
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I knocked on Lauren’s front door with all sorts of mixed emotions as I peaked through the glass awaiting someone to answer. I was ecstatic to see her dolled up, nervous due to not being insanely confident about my own appearance, and anxious overall about how the night would go.
Lauren was stunning, of course. Glasses donned, hair put up, adorned in jewelry, she didn’t miss a beat. Her heels brought her up almost to my eyes or so. We matched better than I anticipated. So far, so good, on that part. However, immediately, my anxiety overcame me for a moment, and when Lauren went to the restroom for a minute, I whispered to
“Tonight is going to be awkward.”
“Why do you think that?”
“I don’t know. I get the feeling a little bit that she doesn’t want to be in it.”
She reassured me that I shouldn’t worry and that we were going to have a good time. Still, after the picture taking was through, I wasn’t completely convinced that she was looking forward to the evening as much as I was. I was in ecstasy thinking about the event and spending it with her, a girl I admire much. If her excitement was at least half of mine, I’m glad.
******************
I needed to have my jeep at school in order to be able to take Lauren home after prom ended, yet couldn’t drive myself to the coal truck, which was meeting us at the
She exhibited a mix between awe and fear when she looked up at the big rig. I aided her entry, which appeared slightly difficult, but not as much as I imagined it would be for her, by holding up her dress a bit for her. My first thought was that she might think I was trying to sneak a peak up underneath – nowhere near my intention obviously, and she laughed about it herself even when I expressed this concern to her later on in the night.
I shook hands with Prowler, who claimed he didn’t have a ‘fucking clue’ how he got involved in driving the truck, but he didn’t mind it one bit, saying it’ll be easy.
“You’ll never forget it, that’s for sure.”
“That’s right,” he responded.
I asked him to drive a little slow, because Lauren seemed a tad unsettled about being about
“Don’t be afraid,” I told her. She smiled, sitting beside me, relaxed. It didn’t help my cause once Prowler was shifting gears and the truck rocked hard as crossed a bump on the way to Inez, though.
The conversation was nice. Half-jokingly, I told her in whispers that most truck drivers “cuss a lot and do pills” – calling them words of wisdom for her. It was here for the first time she mentioned her mother giving her words of wisdom about the night. She mentioned “not ruining my night” as being mixed in with the advice. She didn’t need to worry about that.
I was sitting on the bed in a fiery orange Peterbilt with a girl whose smooth, milky shoulder I’d accidentally nipped a little with my teeth during my second round of whispers. I was sitting on the bed in a fiery orange Peterbilt with a girl who not only liked the color of the vehicle she was riding in, but said I looked swell as well, and even if she was lying, which I don’t believed she’d do, it made me feel good. And, when we arrived at school, and I was able to help her out of the truck by cradling her within my arms (which her mom would later describe as very gallant) and both our faces lighting up with delight just as I envisioned it would go, I was certain about it – the rest of the night could have been dreadful, but that ride there alone insured she wouldn’t ruin it.
******************
I won’t talk about the endless amount of pictures we took before entering the building, my pants breaking and needing to be safety pinned before I busted my first move, or going through Grand March and never handing our tickets over because we were taking more pictures inside the gym. I’ll skip to the dancing and the events that unfolded throughout the night.
We didn’t dance the first slow song. I think we started to dance halfway through the second one, yet ended up finally embracing during the third one. Or, maybe it was halfway through the first and then the second, etc. The beginning is cloudy – just let it be known that I like to dance, and I like to dance with someone who seems to like dancing too, and although she was reluctant to hit the dance floor come fast time, she wrapped her arms around my neck like a pro. It looks easy, but I swear there’s a talent to slow dancing, or something, that makes some people crap at it. Maybe I’m nuts, though?
Regardless of when the dances took place and how well we both seemed to be doing at it (yes, I think I’ m a decent slow dancer and just a slightly above sub-par fast dancer – sue me), we seemed to enjoy ourselves during each ballad bolted out from the speaker near which we were dancing. That was all that mattered.
During every song that I knew the words to (the country ones and a couple of others, essentially), I sang. I do it all the time, every dance I’ve ever been to. I was afraid that it might annoy her, but to my surprise and delight, while dancing during Far Away” by Nickelback (I’m 95% sure it was during that song – and if it was, a very touching moment occurs later, ha), she looked at me and asked why I never sing in front of people, saying that I sounded good. I told her I’m not confident enough to do so but was appreciative of her compliment. It meant a lot to me, really.
There were so many moments to remember scattered throughout the night. Getting excited when “Shake Your Tailfeather” came on and I danced to it with Sha-La Cornette, who the night before I promised a dance. Giving an address to my senior class in honor of my junior friends who made the scenery so wonderful. Receiving the “Most Likely to Succeed” award. Having Stephanie Mills awkwardly attempt to tell me she liked me, which while very flattering, but did leave an odd taste in my mouth. Not a bad one, neither was the dance we shared a bit later when she asked for one – but just a little unusual that she did it there, seeing as I had a feeling she was going to speak up soon. Brave of her, I’ll say that. I told her I was interested somewhat but was not seeking a girlfriend at the moment, which for the most part was entirely true. I then met back up with Lauren, almost spilling punch, which was the best I’ve ever drunk, on her dress. That would have been heartbreaking.
As the night drew to a close, Lauren and I drew a tad closer in our dancing. Maybe during the whole night, nothing was better than “She’s Everything” by Brad Paisley and she and I dancing to it. The moment couldn’t have better represented how much my life has changed over the past 6 months. Heather, while not a real fan of country music, liked that song, one I’d put on a CD for her once.
I was supposed to be at prom with Heather Ann Workman. That’s how, for 3 and ½ years, it was going to happen. We were in love. We had our ups and downs. But no matter what, we were going to my senior prom together, and that was that. I refuted no matter because the ‘what’ was too heart-wrenching.
She said if I’d changed my mind at the very last second, no matter what, she’d go with me still, after I told her I didn’t want to go with her despite our demise. I turned down no matter what in favor of a risky proposition.
Going with Heather had no chance of being as good as it would be in my imagination. One night with your ex-girlfriend who couldn’t be happy with you because you weren’t a girl could never live up to the nearly four years of expectations of a night you were going to share with your girlfriend that cherished you as much as you cherished her. There were no expectations for Lauren to live up to – and it was fabulous.
Lauren’s head lay on my shoulder as I whispered the lyrics the
As the last song played, we danced about half of it, then I grabbed our things and we headed out to my Jeep. It was time for the long-haired boy from up Steppbranch to take the princess of Inez home.
******************
The day ended with humor wrought by youth.
“You’re supposed to put your glass in the sink!” Lexi shouted out at me after I chugged a glass of chocolate milk. I obeyed her instructions, even taking time to wash the glass, which she noted I didn’t have to do. Her delivery was perfect, in my opinion.
I was standing in Lauren’s kitchen in my shirt and pants, having forgotten my Patrick Patterson jersey and camouflage cargo shorts at school, while she was dressing into something more comfortable. As I did earlier, I felt at home in their house.
Martha offered me some money to go buy Lauren and me something to eat, but neither of us was really hungry so I declined. She went to bed, leaving Lexi to “keep an eye on us”.
The AM relaxation was well deserved by both of us. We’d had a long night. We played with her puppy Bella, I chatted it up and took some pictures with Lexi, I even helped her remove little hair clips from her hair which gave way to a pony tail made of curls – which amazed me, for some reason.
It was nice. All of it. Her in her red sweatpants as I checked the score on the Nuggets/ Lakers game – it brought back a lot of memories. It was good in itself though – new, fresh, yet familiar.
An hour passed, and she seemed to be passing into the world of dreams. I crept over to her, let her know she was tired, and decided the time had approached for me to go. I hated to leave – I could have stood in that doorway staring at her for hours, Lexi frolicking around her as if there wasn’t a woman in another room trying to sleep. I tossed her my eagle necklace, the one she stole from me/I gave to her, which she’d placed around my neck a little bit earlier, as I walked out, unsure if she’d wanted me to keep it, or had wanted me to give it back to her.
She’s always going to keep it. No one else but myself has ever worn it. And it looks a damn lot better on her.
******************
Prom was amazing. The scene, the drinks, the mood, the dancing, the music, the lady – every facet was crafted to meet my standards, it seems, looking back. It was better than anything I pictured in my mind, with anyone, one thousand times better.
“Far Away” popped up in my shuffled list of all the songs on my iPod on my drive home from Lauren’s house. Remember that tender moment I said to watch for? I teared up a bit.
So much has changed for me in the past few months, it’s hard not to cry all the time. I’m graduating in two days. My family has been a wreck. Having a penis wasn’t helping me out with my girlfriend. 5 or 6 hours with Lauren and all of my friends having a good time made me forget all of that for a while.
I asked Lauren to go with me because there was no one else better, period. I’d been trying to salvage a friendship with her that I had before Heather, and it’d been two years since we’d spoken in a meaningful manner. We’d been talking, and I couldn’t think of a better candidate. I’m glad she said yes.
One word led me to a night I’ll never forget. One word led me to spending $50 that I didn’t need to spend due to negligence on the ticket-takers part on someone who I wouldn’t care to spend $50 on again. One word led me to loving every single inch of the time spent with a girl who I deeply admire but had nearly thrown out of my life for good. One word led me to memories that will be thought of in hard times.
Thank you for saying yes, Laury. For one night, you protected me from all the demons and illness I harbor within me. I tend to keep myself in decent control of them, but it sure was wonderful having someone else help out for a while.
A night to remember is an understatement. It was a night to dedicate monuments to, to start wars over, and to name babies after. I have no stones to build with, no guns to fight a battle, and no baby to give a name – I could only write about that night, and I hope it was good enough.
