Lucky You

A Story by Jo*** Crib

please leave a review to help me improve -Jo*** Crib

Lucky You

Our eyes met. Your hair blocked the sun like a sunset: gold and strawberry filled the room in my eyes. What beauty! There I stood, a black poster board that me and my friends turned into a sign, in my hands. Just for me. Just for you. I’ve dreamt of this moment for over a year now. I Didn’t do this last year because I was too scared, but like the Cowardly Lion, I found my courage, in blogs about self-worth and confidence.

We were standing in a tiny hallway that was still dark in the middle of the afternoon. There was a room on either side of us, and a useless office behind you that was locked. One room lead to a bright classroom, the other lead to a dark kitchen. We were in between, grey; time could not see us. You were standing still on train tracks; the train a mile away.

That hallway was cramped, and smelled like a mix of “ok” foods made by amateurs who thought they could cook after watching the Food Network Channel for an hour, but my senses were acting up anyways, so I didn’t notice. I couldn’t taste the spearmint gum melting in my mouth after all the stress chewing; I couldn’t feel my hands from how hard I was clenching the sign; I couldn’t see the tiny window that stuck out like a steak in a fruit salad, crammed in the little office behind you; and I could barely hear over my teeth nervously chattering to a tune never before heard. You were standing still on train tracks; the train unnervingly close.

I made out the words you said and etched them into my memories: “You shouldn’t have!” Just you being shocked and polite. Or at least I thought. You know that feeling you get in your heart when your mom tells you she has to tell you something “serious” and your heart drops because you either fear it’s the worst or you already know it’s the worst? That is the exact feeling I had when you said, “I don’t know.” You were standing still on train tracks; the train was an inch from your nose. Jump.

Three little words formed together to make me feel physical pain emotionally. My heart didn’t sink like most people in a comparable situation would have claimed to have happened. Instead, three little words made the pounding of my heart almost shatter my ribcage. Three little words put a knot in my throat to choke me. Three little words hit my shins with a baseball bat. Three little words put my hand in a blender. Three little words put papercuts in the webbings between my fingers. Three little words put a nail underneath my toenail. Three little words hit that nail with a hammer.

I’ve never thought of myself as a real “manly man” because big boys don’t cry, and I do. But when you said that I froze. I was afraid. “Was all this preparation for over a year meaningless?” I was hurt. I couldn’t let you see me cry. It takes a very strong human being to not break down and cry when the girl you’d die for tells you “I don’t know” when you ask her to prom. Yes, this is about me asking this girl to prom. That’s what this entire moment is about: Me asking the girl of my dreams, fantasies, possible future mother of our kids, possible loving wife, possible life partner, possible BFF&E (best friend forever and ever), and/or possible lover to prom. Hearing her say “I don’t know”, I… I can’t explain the emotions I went through other than suicide becoming a choice for my future occupation. But, I saw this whole thing coming.

My friend (we’ll say his name is Bob) is biracial like me (black & white), and at first when our (me and the girl I was asking to prom) mutual friend (we’ll call her Jane) told you someone might ask you to prom today, you said “my dad wouldn’t approve of that”, thinking it was Bob. That red flags were as big as my eyes when I first met you., and yet I ignored it. I did it anyways. Was it my fault? I don’t care at this point. You followed up with a few “maybes” and the occasional “We’ll see”, but I already knew. I should have won an Oscar for the performance of “Playing it cool in the worst moment of my life”. Would I have won best actor or worst life? I vote both, but no one really votes for the Oscar’s, now do they?

I never stop thinking of that moment. Me, a nervous, sweaty wreck asking you to prom, even though in the back of my mind, I already knew what the answer was. Jane told me afterwards that it was because of the whole “daddy won’t approve” thing. Two weeks later, you confirmed it, but didn’t give me a reason. Maybe Jane was saving me from an even worse heart-break by making up a story about your dad being racist, or maybe not. Either way, it haunted me every day, but now, it just puzzles me. And you? You’ve probably forgotten this by now.

Lucky you.