In hindsight, it was the peach
schnapps that was the final
spike in the coffin
where my prom
lay rotting. I didn’t see
it, but I felt it, dread
spreading like pitch
in my belly, as KC cracked
the fifth open, swigging
the sweet syrup, sucking
& sucking & sucking
it down until reminded
that the schnapps
was for the whole party.
I smothered my stomach’s
complaints with hope
because that’s all I had left.
You see, KC was a dream—
just this hardcore Shirley
Temple, all whirls of gold
curls & dimply smiles wrapped
in a black Metallica tee.
I was just some geek,
a short one at that.
I lie. I was the King
of Geeks, sovereign
of my very own nerd herd,
capable of fitting in
where my subjects
never dared:
theater,
wrestling,
KC.
We were lunch friends,
me & KC, bonding over
math & metal,
but when I dared myself
to ask her, I knew
she would say no.
Yes was worse.
The pressure
for the perfect
prom, for a night
full of stars & hands
& tongues &...
well, let’s just say
I was a Vesuvius pimple,
ready to pop pus
all over poor Pompeii.
Perfect’s impossible,
but as I watched her glide
down the stairs drowning
in scarlet, as I nervously tied
the corsage about
her wrist while her parents
snapped pictures,
I allowed myself to believe.
& that’s where perfect died.
Already running late,
my broken stepfather,
with his broken English
got lost, had to stop
for directions
at a station full
of broken white trash
fools for whom
it was more important
to harass & laugh
at the foreign
guy than help.
We finally arrived, are rushed
to have the photographer snap
our pic. Starving, KC & I
explore the buffet, full
of what began life as cold
salads, now picked
over & discolored
with shrimp that were starting
to smell. We ate rice.
Band sadly won out
over DJ, & we were tortured
with songs that my mother
would have danced to
at her prom. We did dance
to one: Celebrate
good times, come on.
But you know how hard
it is to celebrate misery.
Frodo saved us.
Just as KC & I
were commiserating
with our eyes, trying
to find a way out,
Frodo approached
to let us know he & Sammi
were leaving for the Senior
Party, inviting us along.
Here was my last chance.
I ran to the payphone,
called my mother
& lied. A group
of us were heading
to the harbor to find
real food & hang out.
Mother would meet us
at midnight at the Chi-Chi’s
that was once on the corner
of Lombard & Market.
As KC & I slid
into the backseat
of Frodo’s Mustang
I imagined sliding
my hands under
yards of scarlet satin
in some secret, silent
corner somewhere...
& then I watched KC
guzzle a third
of a fifth of peach
schnapps.
We split
at the party. That
was fine, I didn’t
want to blow yet
another shot
due to overbearing
clinginess, a common
complaint.
I was sipping
beer in the basement,
sharing too many
good times
& goodbyes
when I realized
I’d lost
track of time.
Midnight was coming—
Pumpkin Time—
I scurried, hurrying
to call a cab & find...
Where the fuck is KC?
Someone thinks they saw
her upstairs, maybe
one of the bedrooms?
I raced up, skipping
steps, knocking
on the first door
I find, opening
just in time to see
KC being zipped up
by the star
of the baseball team.
I apologized & closed
the door.
It dawned on me,
sulking back
down
stairs:
KC had hit her homer,
I was the one
who’d struck out.
The cab ride
should have been full
of nothing but silence,
space for me to seeth.
I couldn’t even have that!
She was nauseous.
Was it the liquor or the guilt?
I didn’t care. I just begged
her to hold it in
until we got down
town. I didn’t want
to take the chance
that my mother
would beat us
there and beat me
afterwards,
possibly
in front of KC.
KC rolled out
of the cab
on the corner
of Lombard &
Market, sprinting
to the hedges
wrapped around Chi-Chi’s.
I paid the driver
& got to KC
in time to rub
her back as she spewed
forth a toxic blend
of rice & peach schnapps.
KC was wiping her mouth
as my mother pulled
around the corner,
honking.
“What’s wrong with her?”
mother asked
about the girl moaning
in her backseat.
“Remember the shrimp
I told you smelled bad?
Apparently, it was.”
I led the moaning, groaning
KC to her door. Before
I could finish knocking,
KC’s pulling away,
rushing for the gutter,
spilling her guts, again.
I’d had enough.
I jumped into the car,
yelling at my mom
to go.
“Is KC going to be
alright?”
“She’ll be fine,”
I said, “Go, just go!”
There was nothing
left to do but go
home, go fetal, go mourn
the death of prom
& hope.
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