✍ CURRENTLY WRITING FROM: SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA
So I did something I didn’t think I’d ever do. I, um, uh, went to prom.
I should clarify it wasn’t my own—it was of a school I used to attend. I went with a friend who still attends. Considering I used to go to a sheltered, private Christian school, I was surprised when she asked me—I wondered whether the principal had a heart attack and toppled down some stairs when she asked for permission. Turns out all the boys chickened out and most girls went with each other.
In a spur-of-the-moment decision, I said yes, and I didn’t know why I had said yes, considering that day was another one of those days where I sit and stare at my wall and think to myself “Why don’t I have rhythm?” I mean, you’re required to dance at these things, aren’t you? Not that I would know, my expectations of high school come from low-budget, straight-to-DVD chick flicks.
I straightened my hair for the occasion, and I’d just like to record, for future reference, that it took approximately two hours for our poor friend to straighten the lion’s mane that passes as my hair. I kept smiling at myself in the mirror, naturally, and making a face every time I realized that’s how I would be photographed. (Also for future reference: I just came back from the dentist and they told me I still had ten more months with my braces—I’m disappointed.)
The days leading up to the prom were me trying to forget I was invited—I thought that if I ignored it and pretended like I had been invited on that same day spontaneously, then the nerves would go away. The day of, I kept looking at my feet, urging them not to betray me and trip or to remember how to sway side to side.
My old school was a tiny one—even though in my horrific daymares I imagined there would be a hundred people in a giant dance floor, watching me fist pump the air like everybody’s business, in reality, there were about forty kids in that salon. Forty kids! A mini prom, if you will! Adorable! Other adjectives that made the nerves go away!
It seemed almost ridiculous to make such a big fuss about my appearance, so I borrowed a dress from my sister, seeing as the most formal attire I own is a pair of black slacks my mom bought me five years ago that have barely started to fit me.
As expected, the only thing anyone complimented was my hair. “Oh my God, how long did that take?” You have no idea.
In retrospect, it was never a big deal to begin with. It was surprising to see how much effort and emotion people put into this event that everyone was going to forget in a few weeks. Nothing stood out. The DJ was terrible—except for the latin songs he played (he ended with Suavemente by Elvis Crespo). Girls cried because their dates wouldn’t dance with them.
I…danced. I didn’t think I would, and at first, I kept scrunching my face up when someone pulled my hand and tried to twirl me. “Come on, you’re Mexican, you’re supposed to know how to do this.” Indeed, Sherlock, indeed. In the end, I decided that it could very well serve as practice for my own senior prom. And that dance floor was tiny, nobody would see me if I danced in the far left corner.
Also: I hate to do this, because I hate it when other bloggers do it (it’s a true fact that nobody actually cares) but just in case someone does, and also because I want to have a pity party, I’ve been absent because I’ve been studying for my AP US History exam, which I took today, and I think I did well, aw yeah! Now for my AP English exam on Wednesday!