Age 18, may 1968, senior year

graduation night revisited
 

Our next story begins with a conversation that took place during my disappointing Graduation Ceremony.  David Paulus sat next to me that night.  David had been a casual friend for nine years.  Prior to high school I had visited his house several times.  Over the years we had played countless one on one basketball matches against each other.  David was an excellent basketball player, good enough to be a starter on the varsity during our Senior.  Trust me, I was very envious. 

Although the Night of the Abyss only lasted an hour and a half, it seemed like an eternity.  Following my perp walk of shame past the five German students who sat in judgment, I was extremely depressed as I sat down with my German award.  When David congratulated me on winning the award, I was relieved to discover the whole world did not know about the cheating incident.  As we sat there watching others go up to the podium, David asked if I was going to next week's Senior Prom.

"No, I don't think so, David.  Who would I ask?  I've never had a date in four years.  It's kind of late to be starting now, isn't it?"

David nodded.  "I see your point."

"What about you?  Are you going?"

"Yeah, there's a pretty girl named Carol Crosby who goes to my church.  Her parents and my parents are best friends, so I've known Carol a long time.  She has a boyfriend, but said she would go with me anyway."

"Well, I hope you have fun.  Do you plan to do any dancing?"

David laughed.  "Not unless I can smuggle a bottle of Jack Daniels in!"

"Are you going to try to get Carol drunk, make her forget about her boyfriend?"

"No, the Jack Daniels is for me, not her.  Carol's one of those holier than thou types.  I doubt she has ever had a drink in her life.  But she told me she likes to dance, so yeah, with a little help from Jack I'll get out there and try.  What about you?  Do you like to dance?"

"Are you kidding?  I've never been anywhere near a dance floor."

"Why not, it's not that tough.  First you get drunk, then you wave your arms and shake your hips.  You should give it a try."

"Actually I did try once and it did not go well.  This took place in the 9th Grade before the acne ruined my life.  One day it was raining so I took the bus instead of riding my bike.  I got on the bus after school and this pretty girl from Lamar got on at the next stop.  She took one look at my school uniform and asked if I was from St. John's.  When I said yes, she replied, 'I thought St. John's was a rich kid's school.'  When I replied it was, she answered, "Well then, what are you doing here on a bus?  Where's your limousine?'  I was about to defend myself, but she smiled to let me know she was teasing.  I was really flustered."

David grinned.  "You never told me this story.  What was her name?"

"She said her name was Leslie, I said my name was Dick, so we chatted a little.  I told her I went to St. John's on a scholarship.  She asked me where I lived and I said that I lived near Lanier Junior High, which is a far cry from 77019, Land of the Rich.  She laughed and said she lived in 77006, same as me.  When Leslie got off one stop before me, she handed me her phone number and told me to call."

"My, my, aren't you the lady's man!  I thought you said you never dated in high school."

"I wouldn't call this a date."

"If you say so.  So what happened?  Did you call her?"

"Yes, I called Leslie an hour after I got home.  She said she was baby-sitting her kid sister tonight and why don't I come over.  She lived close enough that I rode my bike.  Her sister was sound asleep and some rock and roll music was on.  Leslie invited me to dance, but I said I didn't know how.  Leslie said she would teach me.  For the next half hour, I made a complete fool of myself.  I didn't know where to put my feet, I didn't know what to do with my hands.  I felt like a complete spastic.  Meanwhile, Leslie danced circles around me.  Apparently this was her favorite thing in the world.  When Leslie saw how inept I was, her initial enthusiasm faded fast.  I could tell the thrill was gone.  Sure enough, she looked at her watch and said, 'Oh shoot, my parents will be home any minute.  You should go now.'"

"So that's the story of Leslie?  Was there a second chapter?"

"No.  I never  called her back, not after that fiasco."

"So you have never danced in your life.  What about those dance parties after each home football game?  I've seen you at a couple of those parties."

Before answering, I stared glumly out into space.  David was referring the dance parties sponsored by the St. John's Mother's Guild at someone's home after each home football game.  Those parties were a real sore point with me. 

"I wish you hadn't brought that up.  I have three great regrets.  The biggest is never playing basketball for St. John's.  I also regret never asking a girl from our class out for a date.  And for some reason, not dancing at those parties has been a big regret as well."

"What stopped you?"

"I was afraid a girl would take one look at my face and break out laughing.  Or one of the smart alecks would say something like teenage werewolves are not allowed on the dance floor.  I just couldn't find the nerve.  Instead I would hide in the shadows and watch." 

"Come on, Rick, your face isn't that bad.  You claim to be ugly, but that's all in your mind.  No one cares about your scars." 

"It wasn't just my face, David, I didn't know how to dance.  I mean, those girls are such good dancers, I would look foolish dancing next to them.  Besides, how was I supposed to learn?  How did my classmates learn?  I have an enormous fear of looking spastic.  Based on the looks Leslie gave my dancing, I was certain any girl would break out in a fit of laughter at my clumsiness.  Furthermore, even if I could dance a little, where was I going to get the courage to ask some girl to join me on the floor?  After the acne, I stopped speaking to the girls in my class.  How was I going to approach some girl and ask her to dance when I had no idea what I was doing?"

"If you ask a girl to dance, you can make friends that way."

"I'm sorry, but the idea of making friends with girls using something I was totally inept at was too big a hill to climb.  Girls respond to ability, not incompetence.  Or at least that's what I've been told."

David nodded and said he understood.  The conversation stopped there.  Left to my own thoughts, my mind drifted back to those parties.  Going to those dances had been sheer torture.  When the music came on, I wanted so much to get out there and dance.  Rolling Stones, Beach Boys, Beatles, Motown.  What great dance music!  I hated myself the most when I saw my classmates enjoying themselves on the dance floor.  I was so envious.  As I watched them dance, their laughter and smiles made it clear I was missing out on something special.  However, plagued with fear, I stayed hidden in the darkness while I chewed myself out for cowardice.  At that memory, I let out a big sigh.  Right now I felt so much regret.  Dating, dancing, basketball.  Now that high school was over, those chances were gone forever.  I was upset to have wasted what should have been my exciting years of discovery.  It killed me to know I would never have this chance again. 

As I studied my classmates sitting in the special section reserved for the graduating Seniors, a wistfulness came over me.  Tonight was the last night I would see these 50 students again for a long time, perhaps some of them never.  I had known these people more or less all my life.  Every year there might be one or two new kid, but I estimate 35 of tonight's 50 had been my classmates since the 4th Grade.  Out of 50 students, I could count four friends:  Frank, Walter, David, Tim.  I was on cordial terms with most of the rest, but they knew me as a classmate and nothing else.  It bothered me that I had no personal relationship with these people.  However I did feel a connection.  For nine years, we had shared many a classroom debate.  As academic warriors, I respected them and they respected me.  However, here in my Senior year, my reputation had been called into question thanks to my idiotic cheating episode.  Although Mr. Salls had spared me any punishment, the court of public opinion was not quite as generous.  Yes, my Headmaster might be willing to look the other way, but Bob, the young man who had seen me close the textbook, thought otherwise.  The chilly reception tonight confirmed he had spread the word.  I was furious at myself for tainting the only thing I had been respected for, my academics.

I cringed at the memory of the young man who spit on the grass as I sat down.  In the minds of those boys, I was guilty.  Who was I to argue with them?  Heck, I was guilty!!  They had every right to show scorn.  It aggravated me no end that their final memory of me would be this cheating story.  I was really bitter, not at them, but at myself.  I was also mad over all the obstacles that had cost me the chance to prove I was their equal.  I lost an eye.  That kept me from being an athlete.  My acne removed any chance of dating.  Most of them knew about my menial after-school job which confirmed my lower status.  Now the cheating incident had tarnished my only source of pride.  On a night when I should have celebrated nine years of hard work, as usual I was the one left out in musical chairs.

Convinced the majority of my classmates looked down their noses at me, I fervently wished I could do something to enhance my reputation.  Something, anything to change their mind.  Hmm.  No chance of that.  After tonight, I would never see my classmates again.  Just then it occurred to me I had one last chance.  Next week was the upcoming Senior Prom on Saturday.  This event had not been on my mind because I had no one to ask.  However, out of the blue, suddenly I had a powerful desire to attend the Prom.  The thought nagged at me in the worst way.  I was very surprised, maybe even a little mystified.  Where did this sudden desire come from?  Not just that, but now that I had given free rein to this unexpected fantasy, I didn't just wish to show up, I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. 

That is when Reality kicked in.  The idea was preposterous.  These girls were so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  Who was I going to ask?  Not one girl had made eye contact with me the entire night.  Besides, what made me think they didn't already have a date lined up?  The whole idea was absurd, a lost cause.  No way I would ever find the guts to ask a St. John's girl to the Prom. 

I suppose there were girls at my grocery store I could ask.  Like me, they hovered somewhere between the bottom rung of middle class and the top rung of lower class.  And, like me, they lacked confidence.  Unfortunately, in order to make the kind of impression I desired, my prospective date had to be someone special, someone equal to the shining, confident St. John's girls.  I wanted a girl who was a knockout, someone whose presence would elevate my stature.  I needed a Prom Queen, a girl with the beauty of Venus. 

One might ask why this was so important.  It went back to my feelings of inferiority.  I don't know if words can express how intimidated I was by the girls at St. John's.  I never had any confidence around women to begin with and the acne made things abysmally worse.  Throughout high school the scars had made me feel repulsive.  The few people I confided in said my face wasn't as bad as I thought it was, but I thought otherwise.  The vision of a pretty girl cringing at the sight of my scars haunted me like the Grim Reaper. 

When I looked in the mirror, I became physically sick in my stomach.  Every valley, every ridge, every pothole laughed at me like a cruel goblin.  But if I took three steps back and looked from a distance, I liked what I saw.  I had friends at the grocery store who said my scars were not a problem for them, but then I would look in the mirror and cringe anew.

This confusion over my appearance would be a lifelong concern.  Over time, I would come to accept I was better looking than I felt at this moment.  My face wasn't perfect, but if a girl could overlook the scars, I was a reasonably attractive young man.  However, at age 18, I was totally in the dark how girls viewed me.  And, as I said, I feared the worst.

Four years of high school had passed.  Other than a brief encounter with Renata prior to my Senior year, not once had I been near a girl.  My lack of experience on how to say hello to a girl I did not know was Strike One.  My uncertainty about my appearance was Strike Two.  My social inferiority was Strike Three.  Where was I going to find the courage to make the first move?  My fear of rejection was so powerful it stopped me in my tracks every time.  So I made a deal with myself.  The girl had to make the first move. 

If the girl made the first move, that was her way of saying my scars did not bother her.  I could take it from there.  But we all know this is not the way it is supposed to work.  My passivity was the wrong way to handle my fear of rejection because it projected weakness and lack of confidence.  And where does confidence come from?  Success.  But how was I suppose to experience success if I did not try?  Welcome to the origin of the Epic Losing Streak, an issue that will recur like a stream winding through my life in future chapters. 

I knew it wasn't hopeless.  After all, I had received warm smiles from some of the girls at the grocery store.  We had started as friends at work and over time had developed a nice rapport.  I was fairly certain one of these young ladies would say yes if I asked her to the Prom.  But what was the point?  Sure, I could ask some shy check-out girl to the Prom, but how was that going to dispel the Creepy Loser Kid image that existed in the minds of some of my classmates?  Since a shy checkout girl was not going to cast any doubt on the status quo, it was easier just to forget the whole damn thing.  And so I did. 

Age 18, July 1968, senior year

the doors
 

Prior to graduation, I had never been to a rock concert in my life.  However, that was about to change.  The moment I learned the Doors were coming to town in July, I was determined to go.  The Doors were my favorite rock group.  Ever since their first hit, 'Light My Fire', I was hopelessly hooked.

In particular, I was very drawn to Jim Morrison, the charismatic lead singer.  Based on stories I had read, he was born to be a rebel.  His father was a Rear Admiral in the Navy, an authoritarian man who believed in belittling his son as the preferred form of discipline.  Due to many years of conflict, Jim Morrison grew up as a moody, troubled soul who turned to writing intense song lyrics as a way to deal with his demons.  Sound familiar? 

I wasted no time buying tickets to the July Doors concert.  And, while I was at it, I bought tickets to the Cream-Vanilla Fudge concert in June.  Who goes to a rock concert by themselves?  Me.  I had money to spend, I had a car, and I was used to doing things by myself.  Who goes to a rock concert sober?  Me.  I was not a drinker.  As for drugs, I had smoked a joint once courtesy of a friend at the grocery store, but could care less.

I did not have much of a view at the Doors concert.  The concert was almost sold out when I visited the ticket office, so I bought a seat located right behind the drummer John Densmore, five feet away.  Although the stage was elevated, I could see over it.  Oddly enough, no one else was around.  They preferred to sit several rows behind me higher up.  Due to our proximity, Densmore spoke to me a couple times.  Whenever he broke a drum stick, he would ask if I wanted it, I guess as a souvenir.  I didn't really want the broken sticks, but said sure and thanked him.

The highlight of my night came when Jim Morrison started drinking backstage.  Typically he preferred hard liquor, but on this night he stuck to a six-pack of beer.  Every now and then during the instrumentals Morrison would come back and grab another beer.  He would hand the empty can to Densmore who threw it in a nearby trash can.  However one time the beer can was still half full, so Densmore turned to me and asked if I wanted it.

Sure!  However, before I could even take a sip, I was surrounded by four girls my age.  Screaming and pleading, they each begged me to give the beer can to them.  Stupid me, I probably could have bargained for a kiss (and I am positive one of those girls was desperate enough to grant my wish), but instead I handed it over to the cutest one without getting anything in return.  Then I saw the sad faces of the other three, so I gave them the broken drumsticks.  They all went away happy.

No doubt later in life I would become more devious.  Unfortunately at age 18, I was totally naive when it came to women.  However, there was one unusual exception.  As we recall, I bought tickets for the June Cream-Vanilla Fudge concert at the same time as the July Doors July concert. 

Something happened at the June rock concert.

Age 18, June 1968, Friday night

cream-vanilla fudge rock concert
 

One week after my Graduation Ceremony, I had a ticket to the Cream and Vanilla Fudge rock concert on a Friday night.  These were two of the biggest rock bands of the day.  I went by myself.  No surprise there.  I went everywhere by myself. 

When I reached my aisle, in the gloom I noticed an empty seat halfway down with a pretty girl sitting next to it.  Did that empty seat belong to me?  I might as well go find out.  And who was that girl sitting next to it?  As I drew closer, I realized she was more than pretty, this girl was unbelievably beautiful. 

I immediately felt nervous.  I could not believe a girl of this magnitude would be sitting next to me.  I never realized girls like this even existed except on TV.  This girl should be a model.  She was Teen Magazine Cover Girl kind of beautiful.  I began to worry about my face.  I was always self-conscious about the scars whenever I was near an attractive girl.  However, just then a nice thought crossed my mind.  In the dim light my scars were not easily noticeable.  Freed from my usual fear, for the first time in my life I made the first move. 

Stopping in front of the pretty girl, I smiled and spoke without hesitation.  

"Hi there!" I asked. "Are you here by yourself?"

The young lady pointed her finger at a girl on her left who was passed out.  She rolled her eyes in disgust and said, "That's Patricia.  She drove, but now look at her.  She's dead to the world.  Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Good grief, I wasn't sure her friend was alive.  "Is she okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think so.  She's snoring, she'll be fine."

I smiled like a cat with a cornered mouse.  That comatose girl had done me a serious favor.  With this exceptional goddess trapped between me and her sleeping girlfriend, she had inadvertently become my captive audience.  Hmm.  Maybe this teenage Venus would like someone to talk to, even a mere mortal such as me.

"My name is Rick.  I just graduated from St. John's.  What about you?"

"My name is Cheryl.  I'll be a Senior at Westbury High School next year."

As Vanilla Fudge warmed up behind a curtain, to my delight Cheryl was indeed happy for some company.  She had been bored out of her mind till I came along.  And with that, we began to chat like long lost friends.  Cheryl was easily the best looking girl I had ever talked to.  Even better, she was smiling.  Just to be sure, I pinched myself.  Yup, this is real.  Cheryl wore a short dress with long, hippie-style blonde hair down almost to her waist.  With blue eyes, perfect teeth and flawless complexion, Cheryl possessed intoxicating beauty.  What in the world is going on here?

In a flash, my Supernatural detection system went haywire with alarm bells.  This could not be an accident.  When something is too good to be true, my recent experiences had taught me to be on alert.  This was such a perfect set-up, even a socially awkward clod like myself had a shot at this girl.  Unbelievable.  Like they say, when Fate is involved, anything is possible.  Right now I felt the same premonition I had felt when Bob burst into the room to catch me cheating.  Someone had sent him here.  I was having the same premonition I felt when Mrs. Ballantyne entered the store.  Someone had sent her here.   Now it seemed like the Cosmic Social Director had just lined me up with the hottest girl on the planet.  This was an extraordinary development.  I took a deep breath, a very deep breath.  Unnerved by this latest assault on my sense of Reality, I did my best to stay calm.  Good luck with that.  I was trembling and my heart beat rapidly.

Cheryl was enjoying my company.  She had touched my arm several times to emphasize a point, sending shockwaves through me each time.  Hey, even a babe in the woods could read the signs.  If I could keep the conversation rolling, who knows where this evening might lead?  What should I do?  I decided it was in my best interest to chase the White Rabbit into Wonderland and take my chances.  Sensing a rare opportunity, I talked about the two rock groups we had come to see tonight.  Cheryl wasted no time explaining that Eric Clapton of Cream was the main reason she was here tonight.  Eric who?  My mind was on Cheryl.

Cheryl's girlfriend was still in Dreamland, but not Cheryl.  Her feet wiggled non-stop, her hands pounded on imaginary drums, she could not sit still.  In addition, Cheryl was fighting a losing battle with her long blonde hair.  Her untamed hair frequently covered her face due to her restless movements.  My favorite moment came when I used my hand to brush her hair out of her face.  I did it so I could see her better.  When Cheryl smiled at my gesture, I melted. 

Determined to keep the conversation alive, I asked, "So, Cheryl, have you been to any previous concerts?"

"Yeah, I saw Jimi Hendrix back in February, but the show I want to see are the Doors next month.  I worship the ground Jim Morrison walks on."

My eyes widened.  "The Doors are my favorite rock group.  I already have tickets to the concert (well, actually I only had one ticket).  Maybe I will see you there.  I love the Doors and I especially like Jim Morrison.  He writes his own music which is very intense.  'Light my Fire' is my favorite and I also like 'People are Strange'."

The moment I said I liked Jim Morrison as much as she did, Cheryl became even more animated.  I didn't know that was even possible.  She gripped my forearm with both hands and exclaimed, "Are you serious!?  Oh my God, I love Jim Morrison!"

I nodded.  "The guy's amazing, I agree.  That guy is something else, he's very dark.  I get a kick out of his Oedipal allusions in the song 'When the Music's Over'."

Cheryl shrieked with delight.  "Me too!  I love that song!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Cheryl was in ecstasy as she extolled about her giant crush.

"All my girlfriends like the Beatles, but not me.  Whenever I listen to him sing, I lose control.  You're right about him being dark.  I like that.  I like guys who are scary, guys who think for themselves and refuse to fit in.  Besides, Jim Morrison is more beautiful than a Greek God.  I don't care what it costs, I intend to be in the front row at his concert.  I am going to scream and wave until he notices me."

Amused by her rapture, I remarked, "Cheryl, you have nothing to worry about, not with your looks.  I am very certain Jim Morrison will be unable to keep his eyes off you." 

With that, Cheryl impulsively kissed me on the cheek.  I was surprised at myself.  I had just tried flattery for the first time ever.  Based on her reaction, remind me to try it again sometime.  Cheryl got so excited, she grabbed my hand and would not let go.  Talking about Jim Morrison non-stop for the next ten minutes, all I had to do was smile and listen.  With a wicked grin, I noticed Cheryl was getting pretty worked up.  You know, I am probably not the first guy to ever piggyback a girl's fantasies about another man.  As long as I stuck to Jim Morrison, this night was headed in the right direction. 

Imagine my sorrow when the lights went out.  I had been thrilled to talk to Cheryl, but I figured the fun was over now.  The curtains rose and Vanilla Fudge opened with their signature song 'You Keep Me Hanging On'.  I was full of regret because the music made further conversation impossible.  Just then in the dark Cheryl grabbed my thigh with her right hand and squeezed.  Shock waves raced through me.  On impulse I grabbed her bare right leg and squeezed back.  I was shocked at my boldness; this was really out of character for me.  I had never touched a woman's leg in my life.  Talk about Light my Fire!

I was incredulous to discover Cheryl had an even better idea.  In a flash, Cheryl hopped in my lap.  Now I was electrified!!  What did I do to deserve this?  Well, this was no time for questions; the kissing began immediately.  It was really dark in there which suited me just fine.  In the darkness, all fears about my scars were erased.  This girl really likes me!  Cured of any remaining shyness, I went for it.  My hands met no resistance as they explored those exquisite bare legs.  In response, Cheryl enthusiastically wrapped her arms around my neck and smothered my face with hers. 

Wow!  I was so turned on I could barely stand it.  We did not come up for air for a long time.  This was the night I learned that drugs do funny things to girls.  I had a feeling Cheryl was stoned out of her mind.  What other explanation could there be?  I didn't know much about drugs in those days, but I was getting a long-awaited lesson in female anatomy courtesy of Cheryl's mind-altering substance.  I am sure it was a good rock concert, but you will have to ask someone else.  We were inseparable for two hours. 

After the concert, I offered to help Cheryl get her still-comatose friend Patricia to the car.  Cheryl was quick to accept.  During the walk, I asked Cheryl to my Senior Prom.   To my surprise, Cheryl did not hesitate. 

"Sure!  Let's go!  When is it?"

"Uh, tomorrow night."  I frowned.  What were the odds that a girl with Cheryl's kind of looks would be free?  

Imagine my surprise when Cheryl replied, "Oh, yes, perfect, that sounds like fun.  Where is it being held?"

"At the Bayou Club next to Memorial Park."

"Wow!  I've heard that place is really incredible.  What time should I be ready?"

As I carefully placed Patricia in the passenger seat, Cheryl wrote out her phone number and address.  After handing me the number, Cheryl rifled through Patricia's purse to find the key.  After a long kiss and a big smile goodbye, Cheryl was off.

As I watched Cheryl drive away, I was stunned.  Out of nowhere, I had a date for my Senior Prom.  I had not expected to attend, but that was before Cheryl appeared out of nowhere.  Cheryl's sudden entrance into my life had a definite feel of magic to it.  It seemed very strange that I had wished for a date to the prom and look what just happened.  Am I dreaming?  In the distance I swore I could hear Jiminy Cricket singing 'When you Wish Upon a Star'.

As I drove home, one thing bothered me.  What was a girl who looked like Cheryl doing free on a Saturday night during Prom season?

Age 18, June 1968, Saturday night

st. john's senior prom
 

My visit to the Prom was a curious reversal of the Cinderella fairy tale.  I was the forlorn Cinderella-Fella whose secret wish to attend the Ball had been granted.  Thanks to the intervention of my invisible fairy godmother, I was able to attend the Prom with a beautiful Princess at my side. 

As we walked in, the look of surprise on every face was priceless.  My wish had been granted.  Against astronomical odds, I made exactly the impression on my classmates I had prayed for.  The impact on my self-esteem was extraordinary.  Here in the final moments of High School Hell, for at least one night I could hold my head as high as the rest. 

Just as significant, I finally made it out on the dance floor.  Considering my deep-seated fear of being laughed, my decision to dance was almost as big a miracle as meeting Cheryl.  So where did I find the courage?  Cheryl had the perfect solution.  She made sure to bring along plenty of marijuana.  That stuff had to be strong because it got me out on the dance floor all night long.  My dancing was no doubt pathetic, but who cares?  Like David suggested, I waved my arms, I moved my hips.  Meanwhile Cheryl was in her own little world dreaming of Jim Morrison as she whirled like a gypsy.  Cheryl was happy, I was happy, and so we danced the night away.

The crazy thing is how much I enjoyed the dancing that night.  Throughout high school I had always wanted to dance, but not once did I have the courage to get out there.  I hung back in the shadows and envied those who danced.  Here at my Prom, the opportunity to participate in the dancing was like the answer to a prayer.  Best of all, I enjoyed myself.  I especially liked being in the middle of the action with my stunning date.  Cheryl liked to dance and more than held her own alongside the beautiful St. John's girls.  She barely said a word to anyone besides me, but so what?  All she had to do was smile and dance.  That did the trick.  The eyes of Texas were upon us.

I noticed how my classmates tracked Cheryl all night long.  The girls were curious and the boys infatuated.  Not surprisingly, once they saw how good-looking Cheryl was, several of my male classmates were mesmerized.  They invariably turned their gaze to me with a quizzical smile.  I read their minds with wry glee. 

"Who is this girl?  Is she from an escort service?  How in the world did Archer of all people ever land a date with this diva?"

There was an interesting side benefit to having a beautiful young lady at my side.  Cheryl's presence enhanced my value in the eyes of Carol, David's prom date.  David, my longtime basketball friend, introduced Carol early in the evening.  Carol was a stunning girl in her own right, just as beautiful as Cheryl.  She was very bright and possessed quite a figure.  The moment Cheryl and Carol locked eyes, rather than be rivals for the coveted honor of best-looking girl, they chose to be friends instead.  As outsiders, they understood the evening would go much easier if they forged a bond.  Consequently the four of us spent a lot of time together.  Due to Carol's beauty, I could not help but sneak a peek anytime the opportunity arose.  I think Carol noticed my interest.  To my surprise, she made the first move.  When Cheryl went to the restroom, Carol came over to chat. 

"David told me you wrote your Senior thesis on The Graduate.  That is my favorite movie of all time.  We should talk about it sometime.  I would be interested to know your thoughts."

Carol handed me her phone number and discretely drifted away before David could notice.  Over the summer, I would visit Carol at her house on several occasions.  Too bad she had a boyfriend.  But let's save that story for later. 

As for Cheryl, I made sure to remain at  her side as a way to discourage interviews.  In addition I was smart enough to refrain from explaining Cheryl's symbolic value to her.  However, I suppose she could tell by the curious expressions of my classmates that something unusual was taking place.  I am certain she was used to being stared at, but maybe not quite to this extent.  Bemused, Cheryl played her part to perfection.  Even though one man after another came by to check her out, Cheryl declined offers to dance with anyone but me.  It was quite a thrill to have this beauty all to myself.  This was easily one of best nights of my life.  However, it was also a strange night.  Considering my four long years of intense loneliness, it was like someone decided to free me from whatever Curse had ruined my nine years at St. John's for this one final night.  Thoughts of the fairy tale nature of this evening were never far from my mind.

Sad to say, all good things come to an end.  Close to midnight, Cheryl lured me into the lush gardens surrounding the country club.  She pulled out a giant reefer and lit up.  Based on the look in her eye, we were headed for a replay of last night's rock concert passion.  Since I was worried about driving home safely, I deliberately held back.  To my dismay, soon after we began to kiss, Cheryl passed out in my arms.  She was dead to the world.  Miserable to see my dream date unconscious, there was nothing I could do.  I decided to take Cheryl to the car so no one would see her in this condition.  Cheryl was barely able to walk, so I ended up carrying her.  I sat there in the car hoping Cheryl would revive, but after 20 minutes it looked hopeless.  Cheryl said she had a 1 am curfew, so I decided it was time to take her home.

Can you imagine the look of horror I received from Cheryl's parents as I dragged their barely conscious daughter to the door?  Keep in mind her parents had no idea who I was.  Cheryl moaned some sort of 'Hi Mom, Hi Dad' on the steps to prove she was alive, then staggered to the nearest couch and passed out again.  Furious, her father whirled on me and demanded I come inside to explain myself. 

Uh oh.  Time to face the music.  Fortunately I had danced off most of my high, so I was fairly alert.  It really helped that I was sober or I would have been in a world of trouble.  From that point, I relied on my prep school polish to save me.  I stood up straight, made eye contact, and turned on my best show of respect.  Making liberal use of 'Yes, sir', 'No, sir', 'Yes, ma'am', 'No, ma'am',  Cheryl's parents were impressed by my willingness to answer their pointed questions without a hint of guilt.  To my relief, that did the trick. 

It helped considerably that I had returned Sleeping Beauty on time and in mint condition.  She clearly had not been harmed in any way, so that was a major point in my favor.  However, there was a serious unanswered question.  Why is Cheryl unconscious?  As I expected, Cheryl's father asked me to explain why his daughter was comatose.  I swore up and down that Cheryl was exhausted from all the dancing.  I could see her father was pretty skeptical, but when he let me off the hook, I got the feeling they already knew the answer.  Sure enough, I noticed his wife had begun rifling through Cheryl's purse.  Uh oh.  Cheryl could be in big trouble.

Cheryl's mother found the marijuana. Cheryl's mother looked at her husband to see what he thought and he nodded.  I think they already knew Cheryl had a drug problem.  Fortunately for me, they sensed this was probably not my fault.  In fact, I think her parents thanked their lucky stars that I seemed to be decent.  One glance at their helpless daughter passed out on the couch was all it took to realize I had done them a real favor by bringing her home safely.  At that point, their suspicion turned to gratitude.  I may have been a deeply troubled kid, but at least I had my heart in the right place.

When I called Cheryl the next day, she was in a really bad mood.  She confirmed that after I left, her parents had read her the riot act.  Cheryl confided she had more than just marijuana in her purse, she had pills too.  I had not known about the pills.  That's probably why she passed out like she did.  After confronting her with what they discovered, Cheryl was grounded for a month.  Not the best way to start summer vacation.   At this point, Cheryl turned hostile.  She chewed me out for not having the sense to look through her purse before bringing her in.  Before I could defend myself, Cheryl abruptly said she had to go.  I got the message... don't call back. 

Oddly enough, I was not upset over the brush off.  Rather than be crushed, I was philosophical.  Cheryl was so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  While driving Cheryl home, I had already reached the conclusion I had no business dating a girl of this caliber in the first place.  All Cheryl did was confirm my hunch that I was smart not to get my hopes up.  To be completely honest, I felt like Cheryl had been sent to fulfill a wish.  Just like Mrs. Ballantyne, Cheryl had walked onto the stage, played her part to perfection, then disappeared into the ether.  Cheryl had done me a huge favor, that's all that mattered.  I blessed my lucky stars for this surprising chance to finish my St. John's career with my head held high.  I was more than content to settle for that. 

footnote
 

For the third time in my Senior year, a heartfelt wish had magically come true.  In a manner similar to Maria Ballantyne appearing from nowhere or Ralph O'Connor's college scholarship appearing from nowhere, an authentic Prom Queen had dropped into my lap at the rock concert.  That was remarkable enough.  Equally remarkable was my long-shot wish to attend the Prom with a special girl.  Cheryl was definitely a Dream Come True.

Most remarkable of all is that a girl of Cheryl's magnitude was available to accompany me the following night.  This was the height of Prom Season.  There were dozens of Houston-area proms being held on the same Saturday night as mine.  No doubt Cheryl had received a wide range of requests.  Star quarterback, basketball captain, best-looking guy, so many men, so little time.  No doubt these offers were made well in advance.  Given that Cheryl was the perfect girl to be a young man's dream date, why was she available?   How do we explain this anomaly?

I have an apology to make.  If I have one regret about this story, I was so painfully shy I could not bring myself to ask Cheryl that exact question.  As a result I have spent my entire life curious to know why she was available to be my date on the shortest notice possible.  Oddly enough, I never got to ask Mrs. Ballantyne why she chose my grocery store either.  Oh well. 

There was an additional benefit to Prom Night.  My unexpected adventure gave me optimism that my highly-anticipated college dating project had a fighting chance of success.  After holding my own with a girl of Cheryl's caliber, I hoped I was ready to play in the big leagues with college girls.  We will see how that experiment worked out eventually, but please be patient.  I will put my personal saga on hold for several chapters so I can reveal developments during my Senior year that I never understood until much later in life.