Gay Prom, 2021
My first and last time at prom
Prom. I never wanted to go when I was in high school. I wasn’t much of a raw-raw school spirit kind of girl. I was the sit in the back row, avoid eye contact, skip school type of girl.
High school was one of the worst times in my life. Walking down the jammed hallways like a sardine, going to classes so full, the teachers didn’t always remember your name — let alone have a desk for you. (This is the only thing I remember from my Chemistry class). In addition, all the “other” people intimidated me, no matter what clique or group they were in; I stuck with my select few friends in my high school, and the rest of my group consisted of students of the local alternative high school.
I didn’t fit in. I was awkward, uncomfortable in my own skin, and deeply closeted. I knew some old friends from Jr. High who were going to prom and wanted me to go with them. I reluctantly agreed as long as I had a date … so even though I didn’t want to go, I decided to ask a long-time friend that I grew up with to go with me. I felt silly doing it, but I got the courage and asked him to go … he said, “No.” I wasn’t surprised but annoyed I had to go back to my friends and tell them he turned me down. I didn’t want to go with someone in the first place, so there was no way I would go stag. So I didn’t.
Flash forward fifteen years. A friend invited me to go to Gay Prom with hir, and I reluctantly agreed to go. However, I felt unsure since I hadn’t dressed up since gaining the COVID 15. In addition, I was apprehensive of meeting new people and fitting in. To this day, I feel awkward meeting new people, although I am happy to say I am finally comfortable in my skin. The other reason I was resistant was I knew I was not the first person my friend asked to go to Gay Prom — the first two flaked out, and ze happened to be with me, so ze asked me to go, and I said, yes.
Walking down the bumpy Minneapolis road under the moon-lit sky, in my rainbow-splashed dress, I look to my right and see my stunning date in hir flowing black dress with legs that went on for days. I felt excited and ready to attend my first prom as we walked in on the “yellow brick road” to the backyard, where the lights, music, and people filled the space. The energy was positive and inviting. I met the host, and as we shook hands, I immediately felt included. Name and pronouns were the natural way to greet each other.
I stood awkwardly by the coolers while my date went to get us our drinks; a fabulous person in a yellow dress walked up to me and introduced themselves. They saw me alone and came to my rescue, which made me feel welcomed and comfortable.
As I waited for my date to return, I scanned the party and saw people. All types of beautiful people. People of different genders, sexes, orientations, races, and personalities. The attire was spectacular. Dresses, suits & ties, t-shirts & shorts, costumes, anything, and everything. It was a beautiful view, and I wish I had taken pictures. But, I will always hold the images in my mind of a memorable evening.
After getting my drink, I found my way to the picnic table. Not knowing at the time that I would not move from that spot the rest of the night. I sat down and introduced myself to everyone around me. “what’s your name and pronouns” we asked each other. As I sat there, people would come and go, and I would move from conversation to conversation without physically moving places. I would become immersed in every conversation I would have. I was fully engaged and interested in what each person had to say. My date must have asked me to come dance a few times, but I was so focused on my conversation I would say, “maybe later.”
I regret not taking a minute to spend the time with my date on the dancefloor. My first prom… I needed to dance to get the whole experience.
Yet, I didn’t. I look back and see I had been in a manic state and could only focus on one thing at a time … and talk. I talk a lot when I am in a manic state; often, I don’t know how to relate with another person and revert to telling a story about myself to connect… instead of asking questions about their experience. I didn’t even realize I was doing this or that it was a bad thing until recently — so it’s been a challenge getting out of that habit. I am trying.
As I talked, it got later and later, darker and darker, and I had more and more drinks. The talking increased and became more intense. Topics like: capitalism, gentrification, scumlords, etc., were flying around the table. It was to the point that none of us should have been talking about any of these things.
I was so confused, and the more confused I got, the more questions I asked. And apparently…the more questions I asked, the more people around me got annoyed. One person was accosting me about how I wasn’t a good person and accused me of asking them to teach me how to be a better person. That part is still fuzzy, and I can’t put my finger on why I was upsetting them so much. What was I doing wrong? What did I say?? Those questions were answered with anger and telling me I needed to figure it out on my own. *Disclaimer: I recite this story with a fuzzy memory, and it’s not entirely accurate*
It continued to go downhill from there, and I finally broke into tears as much as I tried to hold them back. They won. Whatever debate that was happening … they won. Even when they apologized to me, they informed me that I was not a good person.
As the night started to wind down, I was still sitting at the picnic table, claiming it as my own, like a dog claims their territory. As I sat in my tears, the host came to comfort me — a moment I needed more than anything. Although, during the whole thing, I felt that I was never comforted — not that it is anyone else’s responsibility to comfort me — I still wanted it. I wanted someone to come to my rescue. I felt defeated and needed someone to pick me up. As much as I would love to say I can stand on my own two feet and defend myself, at that moment, I tried … but failed.
While I tried to focus on the host who was the one to come and comfort me — I listened — yet my eyes kept glancing to the left. To the garage. To my date making out with someone else. An uncomfortable — unwarranted — jealousy came over me. Knowing my date is polyamorous means they didn’t do anything “wrong.” I was in no place to be upset — yet I was upset. I felt rejected. I felt unwanted. I felt like I wasted the whole time sitting when I could have spent the time dancing and laughing with my date. Of course, I don’t blame them for connecting with someone else. I blamed myself.
The night finally came to an end as the making-out stopped, and the host and I wrapped up our conversation. It was finally time to go home. So we made our way out, still hoping to see those same people again in the future… to wake up knowing that was a slim probability for me.
Seeing them again or not isn’t necessary. What is important is I met everyone and had a beautiful time. I had so many meaningful and essential conversations, connections, and memories I won’t ever regret going.
I hit all the milestones:
1. Dress-up
2. Get a corsage
3. Walk hand in hand with my date to the entrance
4. Walk down the sparkling walkway
5. Stand awkwardly by myself
6. Have uncomfortable small talk
7. Drink
8. Get into serious conversations with strangers
9. Start drama
10. Cry
The one I missed …. DANCE! I didn’t dance at my first and last prom.
To summarize, I am so thankful I had this opportunity to attend prom with a great friend, meet new fabulous people, and have had this experience. I hope someone there was grateful to meet me even if we don’t ever meet again.
I hope to someday meet the host and a select few individuals again in the future. But, I can’t stand to think it was the only time the Universe puts us in each other’s paths.
We will have to wait and see what life brings us.
One day at a time. ❤
