So, the pictures done, we piled into the Rolls Royce excitedly. We waved at the neighbors and then... the car wouldn't start. There was just a feeble whine of metal scraping against metal as the engine failed to catch.
Holy fucking shit!
We exchanged horrified looks. I was keenly aware that the neighbors were still watching us, hiding their smiles at our epic reversal of fortune. Automotive schadenfreude. The chauffeur opened the hood and all the neighborhood dads peered in, offering advice, none of which worked.
It was only when several of the dads got together and pushed the car down the street, while the four of us were slumped down inside wishing we were dead, that the engine coughed to life.
We were on our way!
The thirty-minute ride to the Ramada Inn was delightful. We felt so sophisticated, so grown-up. And Tom and I, of course, did what sophisticated grown-ups do: we talked in ridiculous British accents as we mocked the peasants that we passed, with their mundane motorcars and drearily conventional attire. How we pitied them.
Meanwhile, our dates were... well... honestly, I have no idea what they were doing. Tom and I were so busy lording our superiority over the plebeian passersby that Melody and Jocelyn could have spent the entire time feeling each other up and we never would have noticed.
But even if we had noticed, it would have been something like, "I say, old bean! Our lady companions are exploring each others' bosoms!"
"Jolly good show!"
Our arrival at the Ramada Inn was the absolute highlight of our dismal four years at Cambria-Clearfield High School South. Our white-gloved chauffeur — whose name was Kevin but we insisted on calling Jeeves — which he claimed to find funny, but I have my doubts — put out a silver pedestal topped with long-stemmed roses in a porcelain vase.
And then — oh, yes! — he rolled out a red fucking carpet.
He dusted it off with a whisk broom and only then did he open the door. One by one, we we emerged from the Rolls Royce, Copland's "Fanfare for the Common Man" thundering imperiously through outboard speakers. We waved magisterially at our classmates, who were staring at us with undisguised envy. I saw Stacey Li glaring at her date, as if to say, "Why didn't you get us a car like that?"
Sorry, Stacey, I gloated in my head, but you should've had a less common last name.
I enjoyed the prom, but it is nowhere near as crystalline in my memory. More like thermal images; indistinct impressions of warmth. I remember mediocre food and a better-than-expected live band. I remember Melody spending a lot of time in the women's room with Jocelyn, who was apparently experiencing some kind of period/flow/tampon issue. (I did not ask for details.) I remember dancing with Melody, our huge height disparity forcing me to awkwardly lean over her, much to the amusement of my peers. And I remember, at the end of the night, my hand navigating a sea of chiffon so I could finger Melody under her prom dress.
What I remember most, though, was the last dance. The prom's theme was "We've Got Tonight" and when the band started playing it, we all rushed out onto the dance floor. If you're not familiar with this particular Bob Seger creation, it's about a couple that's breaking up and Bob begging the unnamed woman to stay the night. It is — trust me on this — as saccharine, sentimental and manipulative a piano ballad as you are ever likely to hear.
I completely fell for it.
High school was almost over. I would soon be driving a few hundred miles to Ellison College and Melody would be flying a few thousand miles to U.C. Berkeley. We were tremendously fond of each other, but we both understood that what we had was not love, and there was never any discussion about a long-distance relationship. It would be a blessing, in a sense, this mutual acquiescence that spared us the acrimony of a breakup. Instead, it was a tearful parting and sweet memories.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom and Jocelyn, holding each other tight, swaying together, lost in the moment themselves. Apparently, whatever feminine hygiene crisis she had been dealing with had been successfully resolved. Tom caught my eye and gave me a thumbs-up and I gave him one back.
It struck me then that I wouldn't just be separating from Melody, but from Tom as well. He would be attending Penn State, where not coincidentally Jocelyn would be attending as well, because when Tom plays the long game, he really commits. The binary star of our high school friendship would end and we'd drift away into different orbits. I was very excited about leaving home, eager to embrace new people and new challenges at college. But in the past four years, Tom had not only been my best friend, but the closest thing to a brother I would ever have.
I promised myself this wouldn't be the end.