It was two months before prom, and I was getting ready to ask Traci to be my date. I know some guys asked their girls as early as three months ahead of the date, but I didn't need to, because Traci was my girl—always was my girl—and prom was a done deal.
Hell, prom was a done deal from the time I was five.
Traci Batson and I were next-door neighbors since her family moved in next to my family when I was five and she was four. We met a couple of days after the family moved in. I was playing by myself in the backyard when I noticed someone come running toward me. I stood up in time as she got to me: a short-haired blonde girl with green eyes and freckles all over her face.
She reached for me and pulled me into a crushing hug. I let her. When we broke apart, she got down on her knees alongside me and started playing with my Tonka trucks. That was it. No fanfare. Best friends forever.
Traci and I didn't play together every day. Sometimes she went off to play with the girls, sometimes I went off to play with the boys, but more often than not it was Traci and me, and others as they came around. I was fully aware that she was a girl, but for some reason I never looked at her the same as I looked at the other girls. Sometimes, other girls had cooties. I don't know why, but Traci never did.
We stayed best friends through elementary, junior high and high school. While other boys and girls were starting to pair off, Traci and I were already a pair. Other couples went on dates, Traci and I just did things together. It wasn't dating. It was just us doing what we always did.
I was 14 and she was 13 when we shared our first kiss, and like everything else for us, it was done easily and without fanfare. We were coming out of an evening movie and I had my arm around her waist, she leaned into me and we kissed. It wasn't a big deal between the two of us, although I knew we both felt something electric. We did a lot more kissing after that.
Our parents seemed to take everything in stride. I was a part of her family and she was a part of mine. I could count on getting yelled at or getting a smack if I misbehaved at her house, and the same thing for her if she misbehaved at mine.
Our friends also took our relationship in stride, maybe because we had always seemed to be together. It was understood in the neighborhood that we were together, and nobody tried to come between us.
Away from the neighborhood it was a different story, and Traci had her share of guys chasing her. She had developed in all the right places, and while I was always concerned that she would find someone she wanted more than me, I never really worried too much because we were US. She was mine and I was hers. End of story—or so I thought.
As always, Traci met me at my car in the parking lot after classes were done. As we were driving home, I glanced sideways and asked where she wanted to go after prom. Silence... five seconds... 10 seconds... 15 seconds. This was not good. I pulled over to the curb as soon as I could find an opening.
Once stopped, I put the car in park and turned my attention completely to Traci, who was starting to tear up and looked like she had just eaten a bag of lemons.
"I... I... I already told Justin Morrow that I would go to prom with him, Stevie," Traci croaked.
For a second I couldn't breathe. I shook my head in disbelief. Then I stared right into Traci's eyes.
"He asked me last month. I thought it would be fun to go with someone different. You know, different guy, different perspective. You know, it's always me and you. What's the big deal?"
"Aaarrrggghhh!"
I thought my head was going to explode.
"What the fuck is going on, Traci? Different perspective? You've got to be fucking kidding me."
She burst into tears. I started to reach for her to comfort her, then common sense slapped me on the side of the head.
"We're us, Traci! WE'RE US!" I screamed. "You're my girlfriend! My girlfriend doesn't go to prom with a different guy just for a different perspective."
"Look, Stevie, I've never been out with a different guy, and you've never been out with a different girl. You know you're going away to college in a few months, and we're both going to have to date other people."
"At the very least, Traci, why didn't you wait until I went away? That would at least have been kindhearted."
Traci mumbled something while she sobbed. I wasn't even listening as I put the car in gear and drove us home.
I grumbled around at home for four days. I didn't go to Traci's house and she didn't come to mine. Neither set of parents was born yesterday.
"So I heard from Joyce that Traci will be going to prom with Justin Morrow. Joyce cried when she told me, Stevie. Anything you want to add?" Mom asked at supper on the fourth day.
Dad raised both eyebrows. My younger sister Ellie squirmed in her chair.
"Only that you and Joyce can stop making wedding plans for us."
"We're sorry, Stevie. Really, we are. You know, if you need to talk..." Dad said.
"Anybody need two tickets to prom?" I inquired, trying to sound like I was making a joke.
Justin Morrow was an acquaintance of mine more than a friend. I didn't have any idea if he knew Traci and I were a couple, but it really didn't matter. If Traci really was mine, she would have told Justin so, not have said yes.
I walked around like a mope for a couple of weeks, then when I was getting out of my car one day after school I heard Allison Warnock giggling about something with several friends. Allison was the younger sister of Laura Warnock, who lived kitty-corner across the street from me and hung in the general group of friends from the neighborhood. Laura had been my friend about as long as Traci had and was probably Traci's second-best friend after me—at least until three weeks previously. Allison was a freshman at our high school, about 5-4, skinny as a rail, with white-blonde hair and totally adorable.
I had known Allison since she was two years old, and we had always gotten along great. She was a bit of a goofball and a bit of a tomboy, and she was often my partner when we did chicken fights on the lawn or in the pool: she was so light that I could carry her one-handed, which gave me the opportunity to use my free hand for the fight, giving our team a distinct advantage. Anyway, up until that moment I had never seen Allison as anything more than a skinny little flat-chested sister, but I'll admit I always had a special place for my chicken-fighting partner. Hell, I already had the tickets, so I made the somewhat awkward ask.
I had called her over away from "The Twins," another couple of 15-year-olds from the neighborhood, and just asked. Her alabaster face turned bright pink and she dropped her eyes to the ground. I know I caught her unawares.
"Shouldn't you be asking my sister since you're not going with Traci? You've been one of her closest friends forever," she said, looking up at my face at the last second.
"No, I should be asking the Warnock girl I really want to go with, and that's you, even if they don't have any chicken fights at prom. I'm not asking you to be Traci's replacement. I'm asking you to go as my friend."
"Can I ask Mom and Dad first? I'd like to go, but until I'm 16 Dad says I have to ask for permission."
"Oh yeah, I don't want Big Ed mad at me," I answered.
Allison's father, Big Ed, was a bear of a man, 6-3, 220 pounds, and nobody with any sense wanted him mad at them. As much as I feared Big Ed, though, I knew the real force in the family was Allison's mother, Barbara, who was every bit the Irish Catholic mom that people read about in lore. God forbid the boy who touched either daughter; Barb would probably rip both ears off and scratch both eyes out of his head.
The phone call came in the evening, and didn't come to me. Barb called straight to the boss: my mom, and I heard Mom assure Barb very pointedly that I would be every bit the gentleman. When Mom gave her word, that was the way it was going to be, which was fine with me.
I didn't even reach my locker the next morning before Laura was in my face pitching a bitch.
"What the hell, Stevie; am I chopped liver? We've been friends forever, we hang out half the time and you ask my little sister to the prom? What gives?" Laura practically shouted at me.