The First Stag

The steam from the shower started to evaporate from the mirror when I heard someone call me.

"Phone call!" My grandma shouted. I barely heard her through the closed bathroom door. I thought Grandma was asleep already. That's weird. Who's calling me? I don't know a lot of people here. I just talked to Mary Anne less than an hour ago. Who else could be calling me? Carla?

"Ok, I'm coming!" I called back to Grandma. I put the phone to my ear and said "Hello?" while trying to balance the towel wrapped around my wet hair. "Hi. I'm John. My, ummm, Mom gave me your number."

I don't know how long I was silent. A flood of images started to rush past me.

One week ago: My Aunt decided that I should, no, I NEEDED, to go to my Junior Prom. It was April of 1988. I had just moved to her city in January. My Aunt was very concerned that I would miss out on a lot if I didn't try to go. I had a great argument against that. I just moved here. I don't know any boys. I had four solid friends at school and a few acquaintances. We had one boy, Paul, who hung out with us everyday. He was really sweet, but more like a girlfriend, not a prom date. Plus Paul already had a date for Junior Prom. I thought that was the end of our discussion about Prom.

Two days ago: After dinner, my Aunt pulled out a fuzzy black-and-white photocopy of some sort of class picture of boys in military uniforms. Hmmm. Ok. "He's really cute," my Aunt pointed at one boy. He looked okay considering his eyes looked like the fuzz or lint on the glass of the copy machine used to make this particular copy. I squinted to see more clearly. They all looked very similar. My five-foot nothing Aunt was a force when she decided on something. All my Mom's sisters are.

"He's half-Filipino," my Aunt's focus on that same boy was unwavering. "But HE is the one you should go to Prom with!" her finger moved to the fuzzy boy next to the first one. "I work with his Mom. She's the one who gave me this picture."

I wondered what she was up to.... "I guess," I muttered, not really paying attention. I guess I didn't really understand what she meant until she said, "His mom will ask him to call you to introduce himself." I was only 17, but I could feel a furrow on my brow starting to form. Call me? Who is this boy? He doesn't even go to my school. He's like in the Army, or something.

"He is a Junior like you. He goes to St. John's Military School." I still didn't fully comprehend what was brewing around me.

I think I said something like "Okay." I didn't give it much thought anyway because when a Junior in high school gets handed some random girl's phone number by his Mom and is asked to call, the answer, in most cases, is a swift and unadulterated "NO".

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So there I was standing in the hallway, dripping from parts that weren't dried off yet. "Hi!" I said a little to eagerly. I might have even followed with "How are you?".... more like "Who are you?"... I couldn't believe this was happening.

"My name is John. I got your phone number from my Mom." --- (how romantic!)

I tried to imagine the conversation at his house before he made this call:

Mom: John, call this number.

John: Who's number is this?

Mom: My co-worker's niece. You should call her.

John: That sounds awkward, Mom. I don't even know her.

Mom: Just do it.

John: You're serious, aren't you?

Mom: I told her Aunt you would call her.

I'm sure the actual conversation, if one actually took place, wasn't like that.Before either one of us said anything else, I knew he must really love his Mom.