One Normal Night: Lord of the Flies

Chapter 7

What do you do when you're going to a dance with a guy who you haven't talked to since a very awkward experience?

My hands nervously tug at the box in my hand which contains Jesse's boutinerre- blue, to match my dress. As I wait for him to pick me up I study dance-Dana in the mirror. Even though my peach color corrector is gracefully concealing my under eye bags, traces of worry and restlessness can still be detected on my face. Don't go to the damn dance, Dana, I tell myself as I shrug my unintentional alliteration. He doesn't deserve you. I sigh, breath shaky, as I pull on my nude pumps and start to think that maybe I don't deserve him.

I hadn't taken a while to step back and evaluate myself in a while. My mom, being what I call a "shrink", always used to make me complete a weekly checklist of my behavior. Did you complete all of your chores without Mom nagging? I look around my room- clothes are thrown on top of smoothie bottles and magazine clippings while my drawers overflow with papers and pens. Nope. How did you feel about your grades? I pull out my phone and log into Infinite Campus, and I see infinite As. Great. How did you treat your friends? I pull out my phone once more and check my last messages from the day. None.

My phone is returned to my purse as I sigh and grab my jacket from the table. Maybe Jesse won't notice I'm there. Maybe he'll have another date- that one whore.
.....
The route to my front door is cut off by what I call the trail of Dad. Popcorn kernels, printed internet talboids, and diet coke litter the floor.
If you follow the trail to the den, you'll find the treasure- a sweat-soaked 40-something year old man, weakened by rust and fueled by Mr. Goodbars and caffeine, snoring on the couch as if his job wasn't real and his kid was invisible. But as my luck would have it, he's not dreaming of a paid off mortgage and signed adoption papers as I sneak through the living room.

"Where are you going, dressed like that?" His voice fills the room, slowly, like a poisonous gas.

"Homecoming," I say, turning around as I was trained to. My mom always made sure I knew how to deal with dad when he was angry (aka all the time), and step one was to not provoke him.

"With a boy?"

"No. Presley, sir."

"I swear to God, Dana, if you are lying to me you will never see the light of day again."

"I promise, I'm not lying."

"...Be home by 11."

"Yes sir."

"11 you hear me? Not a minute later."

"Yes sir."

My dad is not an alcoholic, but I wish he was. Then I could blame his anger on something other than myself.
...
Just as I'm about to open the front door, a knock settles itself into the metal scratches of the scrap metal my dad used to fix the door after the last big storm. I open it, reluctantly, to face Jesse. He smiles and starts to enter the house, I frown and push him outside and shut the door behind me.
"Okay, hey to you too Da-"

"What the hell are you doing here?" I half-whisper, glancing in the window behind me.

"Woah, can't a guy pick a girl up for a dance?" Jesse laughs, clutching my corsage in his hands.

"Okay, not here, not here." I push him into the bushes next to my house just as the front door opens.

My dad steps out of the house, looks around, and bends down to pick up the two week old paper. He reenters the house. That's when I realize that I'm completely entrapping Jesse in my arms.

"Okay, now I'm kinda freaking out. Is this not your house? Are you some kind of nomad or wanderer?" Jesse asks, brushing leaves out of his hair.

"Yeah, that's exactly right, now can we fucking go?" I say, returning to the sidewalk and to Jesse's car.

"Alright, crazy. We'll go. We're late for pictures anyways."

"Whatever."
...
It's funny how pictures can be staged to portray feelings different from those felt at the time the photo was taken. I know I'll look back at these pictures- the cheesy "prom pose", the classic "pin-the-boutinerre-on-the-date", the degrading "girls only" -and think of now as a nostalgic sliver of my high school glory days. But in the moment, it feels like my personal hell.

Heather and Corey take every free moment to glare at me with jealousy-fueled eyes while Ben takes every free moment to keep his disapproving eyes far away from my vicinity. Every time he pulls Adrianne closer, I can more clearly see the stuffing in her bra. Huh. I didn't realize we were in an 1980's teen flick. But they aren't even the worst part of the group; no, the worst part is having Jesse be normal. It seems as if he's forgotten our kiss, the humiliating run in with that girl, us. Did he forget about us?

Dinner was a blur, I didn't find much common ground for conversation with these people. I added a few "good for you"s and "oh my god"s in to keep the suspicion low, but I think Jesse could tell that I was clocked out.

"You know what I don't get?" Jesse asks as he reverses his car from the parking lot near the restaurant.

"What. What don't you get," I ask, disinterested. I'm fully aware of my blatant behavior but the upside to having blatant behavior is the ability to ignore what others think about you.

"Why you act like you're better than everyone else. Like all the time," he says, slightly miffed.

"Excuse me?" I say, blatant behavior dissipating in the wake of my anger.

"Like at dinner. You contributed absolutely nothing," Jesse argues.

I pull on a loose curl from my head. "Maybe I just had nothing to say? I'm not a very good conversationalist."

Jesse laughs as he turns the wheel. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you. You're a state level debater for God's sake."

"No, you see, that's where you're wrong. You don't know me. You're so quick to judge me but you can't because you don't know me or anything about me."

"Well then tell me!" Jesse says, whipping his head towards me. "Every damn time I try to learn something about you, you push me away."

"You really want to learn something about me," I scoff in disbelief.

"Yeah, I do."

"That's complete bullshit!" I squeak as he pulls into a spot at the athletic entrance of the school. "You couldn't care less about me or anything I've ever done."

Jesse gets out of the car, slinging his sports coat over his shoulder. He makes his way over to my door to open it, but I'm out and steaming before he can get there.

"I know what you're doing," I hiss. "You're trying to let me feel comfortable with you so you can just use me."

Jesse pushes open the door and holds it for me "Use you?" He whispers.

I turn to him as he hands a chaperone our tickets. "Don't play dumb with me. I know you."

And I leave him, speechless and spiritless with the 50 year old student activities director.