But the longing to be part of the scene
just would not ease. So if it couldn’t be David or Mike or one of the cool guys,
then whom could she choose? “Pick a nice boy from church,” her mother would
have said. The only boy of her class that she ever saw in church was Brent –
shaggy-haired, sallow-skinned, overweight – but he was at least as tall as she
was. Not among the most popular of the guys but that meant that the chances of him refusing
her were much less.
After days of a nervous stomach, after
changing her mind more often than she could count – she would call him right
now, she would wait until the date was closer, she wouldn’t go to the dance at
all, she wanted to go, perhaps she should just call and get it over with – it
was with a sense of doom that she finally dialed his number and asked to speak
to Brent. “Bre-ent, it's a gi-irl!” called the younger sibling who had answered
the phone at his house.
When Brent finally came on the line she explained the purpose of her
call in a breathy, shaky voice, needing to swallow in all the wrong places, and
finished with a gulp, “um, so I wondered if you would be my date … if you want
to?”
To all of which Brent merely mumbled
something that sounded like, “Maybe, I’ll let you know.” She had used every
minuscule grain of the little confidence she’d been able to summon and was too shaken to press the point. Now
she could only say, “Um, okay, thanks.” Then she concentrated on making her
shaking hand put the receiver down very gently, without dropping it.
She might have a date! Well, she thought she had a date ... didn't she? Surely it was enough
assurance to begin spending her babysitting money on stuffed toys, ribbons,
candy, and trimmings to make an outrageous corsage as the other girls who were
sure of their dates were doing. She enlisted the help of her best friend who
was not very creative either and kept offering cynical comments about not even
being sure of having a date and, if such a commitment were actually in
existence, the likelihood of Brent refusing to wear their awkward creation.
The agonizing question as the day drew
nearer remained: did she have a date? Would he call to say yes or no? Or should she
call him again? But that might look too desperate. If he wanted to go with her, why
didn’t he call? Or had his “maybe” really meant “no?” It was really, when all
was said and done, the stupidest idea she had ever had. A worm of embarrassment
and shame slithered uneasily somewhere in the region of her gut. She’d have
given anything never to have made that call.
(Part Three coming soon.)
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