|
The Prom Invitation
By Don H. Staheli
I think I knew it was coming — an invitation
to the junior prom. In my high school it was a girl-ask-boy affair.
That was probably a good idea, because there were some wonderful
girls who deserved to have a special night out, but were seldom
invited to the events that did not call for a reversal in the usual
gender roles. The young lady who was looking my way was one of them.
I honestly cannot remember her name,
but I recall that she sat behind me and few rows over in English
class. Though not unattractive, she was not the prettiest girl in
school, but she was bright, well mannered, pleasant and creative.
She went out of her way to be friendly with me, but I never really
responded in more than a very casual way. As prom time approached,
however, something or someone tipped me off that she was going to
invite me to go with her. This I could not do.
Have you ever looked back and wondered
what made you act like such a jerk in a situation gone by? Be it
teenage foolishness, selfish thoughtlessness, immature unkindness
or whatever, I still cannot fathom what caused me to respond to
her as I did.
The Invite
After class one day, she sought me
out and handed me an envelope. She was her usual friendly self.
I was in my usual less-than-warm, don’t-get-your-hopes-up, dough-head
mode. The envelope was parchment and on it was my name beautifully
written in an exquisite calligraphic hand. I was unimpressed and
a bit embarrassed. I took the envelope and beat a hasty retreat
down the hall.
When the envelope was opened, and the
winner revealed, I was named, but felt like anything but a victor.
In fact, a wave of unfounded disgust swept across my mind. Inside
the carefully folded parchment container was another sheet of the
same elegant paper. More fine calligraphy, but this time in a long
and well written poem, which described her desire to go with me
to the junior prom.
I was overwhelmed, but not in the manner
anticipated by the thoughtful artist and poet who had put so much
into her carefully crafted effort. Just the opposite. Instead of
being pleased, I was completely put off and determined to avoid
any further advancement of the notion proposed in her prose. At
the next opportunity, I would tell her that I was going to be out
of town and couldn’t go to the prom. No sense being honest about
it. And certainly nothing to gain in actually going with her. No,
the thought of that was not to be considered.
The next day, sitting in English class,
I could see her out of the corner of my eye in her regular seat.
She seemed to be in her typical happy mood, perhaps anticipating
a positive gesture from me. No such luck. Little did she know that
she was dealing with a guy whose heart had unfortunately been left
at the classroom door, or in his locker, or somewhere, but was certainly
not where it should have been.
The Lie
After class, I approached her with
a contrived look of profound disappointment and expressed my dishonest
regrets at not being able to go to the prom with her. Her pleasant
personality never missed a beat and if she were hurt, her eyes never
gave it away. She smiled and said she understood and that was that.
She clutched her notebook and walked away with a girlfriend, and
I, with a feeling of foolish relief, headed in the opposite direction.
The matter was closed.
Yes, it was over. I didn’t have to
take her to the prom and endure a night of good company, fine food,
and fun dancing. I didn’t have to come off my high horse and realize
a morsel of human kindness and unselfishness in going to the prom
with someone other than the belle of the ball. It was over, but
I have never forgotten.
To this day, I can still see the practiced
penmanship on that specially treated paper. And I cringe to think
that I was not good enough to respond in an equally special way.
Instead of creating a nice memory and building what would have undoubtedly
been an undemanding friendship, I figured that she was simply not
worth any investment of my time. Nearly forty years have passed
since that episode. She has certainly forgotten about it. Why should
she remember such a thing? But the thought of my ungracious actions
still lingers in my mind.
Of course, the real guilt is gone and
I don’t continue to beat myself up over it. I was, after all, only
a silly 16- or 17-year-old boy and had no real intention of hurting
her. I simply wasn’t emotionally capable at that point of dealing
with the situation in the best way. But I keep the memory alive
in order to remember what I might have done and what might have
resulted if I had been willing to give a little so that someone
else could have a lot. I don’t want to forget that it doesn’t take
much personal sacrifice to make people happy, that a little reaching
out, a bit of inclusiveness won’t hurt and will likely do a lot
of good for us as well as the recipient of our minor benevolence.
I didn’t save that parchment poem.
It never became a keepsake. It is, however, framed in the recesses
of my memory as a special reminder of the real desires of my heart
and the importance of acting with kindness and grace to all who
seek what little I may have to offer. Wherever you are classmate,
I apologize. I know better now and I’m sorry we didn’t get to go
to the prom together. Hopefully, we can both take comfort in knowing
that I have tried over and over to make up for that poor behavior
by saying yes, with never a regret, to equally kind invitations.
Click
here to sign up for Meridian's FREE email updates.
© 2001 Meridian
Magazine. All Rights Reserved.
| 
