Age 18, may 1968, senior year

graduation night
 

I had been a student at St. John's for nine years.  And now it was time to graduate.  Parents, relatives, plus students from Grades 9, 10, and 11 sat facing the podium while the seniors sat in a special section nearby. 

In addition to handing out diplomas, this event was known as Awards Night.  Students from all four high school classes would be honored for their achievements in sports, academics, and extracurricular activities. 

David Paulus sat next to me that night.  David had been a casual friend for nine years.  Back when we were kids I had visited David's house several times.  Throughout high school we had played countless 'one on one' basketball matches against each other.  David was an excellent basketball player.  He was a starter on the varsity during our Senior year.  As for me, due to my blind left eye, I was not permitted to play for my school.

To my surprise, I was given an award as the top German student in my class.   David was nice enough to congratulate me on winning the award.  As we sat there watching others go up to the podium, David asked if I was going to next week's Senior Prom.

"No, I don't think so, David.  Who would I ask?  I've never had a date in four years.  It's kind of late to be starting now, isn't it?"

David knew about my ordeal with acne going back to my Freshman year.  Feeling like the ugliest boy in school as well as the token poor kid, he also know how intimidated I was around the girls at my school.  "I see your point."

"What about you?" I asked.  "Are you going?"

"Yeah, there's a pretty girl named Carol Crosby who goes to my church.  Her parents and my parents are best friends, so I've known Carol a long time.  She has a steady boyfriend, but said she would go with me anyway."

"Well, I hope you have fun.  Do you plan to do any dancing?"

David laughed.  "Not unless I can smuggle a bottle of Jack Daniels in!"

"Are you going to try to get Carol drunk and make her forget about her boyfriend?"

"No, don't be ridiculous.  The whiskey is for me, not her.  Carol's one of those holier than thou types.  I doubt she has ever had a drink in her life.  But she told me she likes to dance, so yeah, with a little help from Jack I'll get out there and try.  What about you?  Do you like to dance?"

"Are you kidding?  I've never been anywhere near a dance floor."

"Why not, it's not that tough.  First you get drunk, then you wave your arms and shake your hips.  You should give it a try."

"Actually I did try once.  It did not go well.   Something unusual took place in the 9th Grade shortly before the acne ruined my life.  One day it was raining so I took the bus instead of riding my bike.  I got on the bus after school and this pretty girl from Lamar High School got on at the next stop.  She took one look at my school uniform and asked if I was from St. John's.  When I said yes, she replied, "I thought St. John's was a rich kid's school."

When I replied that it was, she answered, "Well then, what are you doing on a city bus standing next to unprivileged public school kids?  Where's your limousine?  Where's your chauffeur?"  I was about to defend myself, but she smiled to let me know she was teasing.  I was really flustered."

David grinned.  "You never told me this story.  What was her name?"

"Her name was Leslie, I said my name was Rick, so we chatted a little.  I told her I went to St. John's on a scholarship.  She asked me where I lived and I said that I lived near Lanier Junior High. 
 

"Oh, my," Leslie said, "You live in zip code 77006, same as me.  I thought all St. John's students lived in 77019, River Oaks, Land of the Rich and Famous."

David laughed again.  "That girl had a smart mouth on her."

I nodded.  "You have no idea.  Leslie was definitely the most aggressive girl I ever met during high school.  At any rate, when Leslie got off the bus one stop before me, she handed me her phone number and told me to call."

"My, my, aren't you the lady's man!  I thought you said you never dated in high school."

"I wouldn't call this a date."

"If you say so.  So what happened?  Did you call her?"

"Yes, I called her an hour after I got home.  She said she was baby-sitting her kid sister tonight, then added why don't I come over.  She lived so close that I rode my bike.  Her little sister was sound asleep, so Leslie had some rock and roll music playing on her record player in the living room.  Leslie invited me to dance.  When I said I didn't know how, Leslie said she would teach me.  For the next half hour, I made a complete fool of myself.  I didn't know where to put my feet, I didn't know what to do with my hands.  Basically I felt like a complete spastic.  Meanwhile, Leslie danced circles around me.  Apparently dancing Freestyle was her favorite thing in the world.  When Leslie saw how bad I was, her initial enthusiasm faded fast.  I could tell the thrill was gone.  Sure enough, she looked at her watch and said, 'Oh shoot, my parents will be home any minute.  You should go now.'"

"So that's the story of Leslie.  Was there a second chapter?"

"No.  I never  called her back, not after that fiasco.  That was probably the closest I ever came to having a girlfriend and I blew it."

"So you never danced once in high school.  What about those dance parties after each home football game?  I saw you at some of those parties."

David was referring the dance parties sponsored by the St. John's Mother's Guild.  These parties were held at someone's River Oaks mansion after each home football game.  Those parties were a real sore point with me. 

"I wish you hadn't brought that up.  I have three great regrets during my years of High School Hell.  The biggest regret is never playing basketball for St. John's.  I regret never asking a girl from our class out for a date.  And for some reason, not dancing at those parties has been a big regret as well."

"What stopped you?"

"I was afraid a girl would take one look at my scarred face and break out laughing.  Or one of the smart alecks would say something like teenage werewolves are not allowed on the dance floor.  I just couldn't find the nerve.  Instead I would hide in the shadows and watch." 

"Come on, Rick, your face isn't that bad.  You claim to be ugly, but that's all in your mind.  No one cares about your scars." 

"It wasn't just my face, David.  The problem was that I didn't know how to dance.  Those girls were such good dancers, I would look foolish dancing next to them.  Besides, how was I supposed to learn?  How did my classmates learn?  I have an enormous fear of looking spastic and having someone make fun of me.  Based on the look on Leslie's face, I was certain any girl would break out in a fit of laughter at my clumsiness.   Furthermore, even if I could dance a little, where was I going to get the courage to ask some girl to join me on the floor?  After the acne, I stopped speaking to the girls in my class and they stopped speaking to me.  How was I going to approach some girl and ask her to dance when I had no idea what I was doing?"

"If you ask a girl to dance, you can make friends that way."

"I'm sorry, but the idea of making friends with a girl using something I was totally inept at was bad strategy.  Girls respond to ability, not incompetence."

David nodded and said he understood.  The conversation stopped there.  Left to my own thoughts, my mind drifted back to those parties.  Going to the school dances had been sheer torture.  When the music came on, I wanted so much to get out there and dance.  Rolling Stones, Beach Boys, Beatles, Motown.  What great dance music!  I hated myself the most when I saw my classmates enjoying themselves on the dance floor.  I was so envious.  As I watched them dance, their laughter and smiles made it clear I was missing out on something special. 

However, bad dancers are not sexy.  Plagued with fear, I stayed hidden in the darkness while I chewed myself out for cowardice.  I let out a big sigh.  I felt so much regret.  Dating, dancing, basketball.  Now that high school was over, those chances were gone forever.  I was upset to have wasted what should have been four exciting years of discovery.  It killed me to know I would never have this chance again. 

As I studied my classmates sitting in the special section reserved for the graduating Seniors, a wistfulness came over me.  Tonight was the last night I would see these 50 students again for a long time, perhaps some of them never.  I had known my St. John's classmates for nine years.  Every year there might be one or two new kids, but I estimate 35 of tonight's 50 had been my classmates since the 4th Grade.  Out of 50 students, I could count four friends:  Frank, Walter, David, Tim.  I was on cordial terms with most of the rest, but they knew me as a classmate and nothing else.  It bothered me that I had no personal relationship with these people.  However I did feel a connection.  For nine years, we had shared many a classroom debate.  As academic warriors, I respected them and they respected me.  But that is where it stopped.  For nine years, I suspected most of my classmates thought of me as a social inferior. 

Unfortunately, their lack of interest had rubbed off on me.  I had a huge chip on my shoulder.  I was really bitter, not at them necessarily, but rather my lousy Fate.  I was mad about all the obstacles that had cost me the chance to prove I was their equal.  I came from a broken home.  Once my father abandoned me, I became the poorest kid in school, certainly not part of the country club set.  Most of of my classmates knew I worked a menial after-school job at a grocery store.  Then there was my blind eye.  That kept me from being an athlete.  My acne was the final straw.  Feeling like a leper, my shame removed any chance of dating.   On a night when I should have celebrated nine years of hard work, as usual I felt like the kid who lost the game of musical chairs.

Convinced the majority of my classmates looked down their noses at me, I fervently wished I could do something to enhance my reputation.  Something, anything to change their mind.  Hmm.  No chance of that.  After tonight, I would never see my classmates again.  Just then it occurred to me I had one last chance.  Next week was the upcoming Senior Prom on Saturday.  This event had not been on my mind because I had no one to ask.  However, out of the blue, suddenly I felt a powerful desire to attend the Prom.  The thought nagged at me in the worst way.  I was very surprised, maybe even a little mystified.  Where did this sudden desire come from?  Not just that, but now that I had given free rein to this unexpected fantasy, I didn't just wish to show up, I wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. 

That is when Reality kicked in.  The idea was preposterous.  These girls were so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  Who was I going to ask?  Not one girl had made eye contact with me the entire school year.  Besides, what made me think they didn't already have a date lined up?  The whole idea was absurd, a lost cause.  No way I would ever find the guts to ask a St. John's girl to the Prom. 

I suppose there were girls at my grocery store I could ask.  Like me, they hovered somewhere between the bottom rung of middle class and the top rung of lower class.  And, like me, they lacked confidence.  These were the kind of kids who knew they were not going to college next year unless they made some money ahead of time.  Unfortunately, in order to make the kind of impression I desired, my prospective date had to be someone special, someone equal to the shining, confident St. John's girls.

I wanted a girl who was extraordinary.  I wanted a knockout, a young lady whose whose presence would elevate my stature.  I needed a Prom Queen, a mythical girl with the beauty of Venus. 

One might ask why this was so important.  It went back to my feelings of inferiority.  I don't know if words can express how intimidated I was by the girls at St. John's.  I never had any confidence around these girls to begin with and the acne made things abysmally worse.  Throughout high school the scars had made me feel repulsive.  The few people I confided in said my face wasn't as bad as I thought it was, but I thought otherwise.  The vision of a pretty girl cringing at the sight of my scars haunted me like the Grim Reaper throughout High School Hell. 

The truth is I was a reasonably good looking young man.  David was right, no one but me noticed the scars.  But I did not know that at the time.  Here is what I did know.  Whenever I looked in the mirror, I became physically sick in my stomach.  Every valley, every ridge, every pothole, every scar laughed at me like a cruel goblin.  But if I took three steps back and looked from a distance, I liked what I saw.  But then I would take a closer look and cringe anew.  This confusion over my appearance would be a lifelong concern.  Over time, I would come to accept I was better looking than I felt at this moment.  My face wasn't perfect, but if a girl could overlook the scars, I was okay.  However, at age 18, I was totally in the dark over how girls viewed me.  And, as I said, I feared the worst.

Four years of high school had passed.  Not once had I been near a girl.  My lack of experience was Strike One.  I had no idea how to say hello to a girl I did not know.  My uncertainty about my appearance was Strike Two.  My sense of social inferiority was Strike Three.  Where was I going to find the courage to make the first move?  My fear of rejection was so powerful it stopped me in my tracks every time.  I simply could not make myself approach a girl I did not know.  So I made a deal with myself. 

If the girl makes the first move, then she does not care about my scars.

If the girl made the first move, I could take it from there.  But we all know this is not the way it is supposed to work.  My passivity was the wrong way to handle my fear of rejection because it projected a lack of confidence.  And where does confidence come from?  Success.  But how was I suppose to experience success if I did not try?  Welcome to the origin of the Epic Losing Streak.  My problems with women will recur like a winding stream that keep crossing my path throughout the future chapters. 

I knew it wasn't hopeless.  I had received warm smiles from some of the girls at the grocery store.  We started as friends at work and over time had developed a nice rapport.  I was fairly certain one of these young ladies would say yes if I asked her to the Prom.  But what was the point?  Sure, I could ask some shy check-out girl to the Prom, but how was that going to dispel the Creepy Loser Kid image that existed in the minds of some of my classmates?  Since a shy checkout girl was not going to cast any doubt on the way I was perceived, it was easier just to forget the whole damn thing. 

Age 18, June 1968, Friday night

cream-vanilla fudge rock concert
 

One week after my Graduation Ceremony, I had a ticket to the Cream and Vanilla Fudge rock concert on a Friday night.  These were two of the biggest rock bands of the day.  I went by myself.  No surprise there.  I went everywhere by myself. 

When I reached my aisle, in the gloom I noticed an empty seat halfway down the row.  Did that empty seat belong to me?  Probably, so I slowly made my way towards the seat.  As I came closer I noticed a pretty girl sitting next to the empty seat.  When I finally reached the spot, I realized this girl was more than pretty, she was unbelievably beautiful. 

I immediately felt nervous.  I could not believe a girl of this magnitude was sitting next to me.  I never realized girls like this even existed except on TV.  This girl should be a model.  She was Teen Magazine Cover Girl kind of beautiful.  I immediately began to worry about my face.  I was always self-conscious about the scars whenever I was near an attractive girl.  However, just then a nice thought crossed my mind.  In the dim light my scars were not easily noticeable.  Freed from my usual fear, for the first time ever I made the first move.  Stopping in front of the pretty girl, I smiled and spoke without hesitation.  

"Hi there!" I asked.  "Are you here by yourself?"

The young lady pointed her finger to the unconscious girl on her left.  Then she rolled her eyes and said something in disgust.  "That's Patricia.  She drove, but now look at her.  She's dead to the world.  Pretty pathetic, huh?"

Good grief, I wasn't sure her friend was alive.  "Is she okay?" I asked.

"Yeah, I think so.  She's snoring, she'll be fine."

I smiled like a cat with a cornered mouse.  That comatose girl had done me a serious favor.  With this teen goddess trapped between me and her sleeping girlfriend, she had inadvertently become my captive audience.  Hmm.  Maybe Venus would like someone to talk to, even a mere mortal such as me.

"My name is Rick.  I just graduated from St. John's.  What about you?"

"My name is Cheryl.  I'll be a Senior at Westbury High School next year."

As Vanilla Fudge warmed up behind a curtain, to my delight Cheryl was indeed happy for some company.  She had been bored out of her mind till I came along.  And with that, we began to chat like long lost friends.  Cheryl was easily the best looking girl I had ever talked to.  Even better, she was smiling.  Just to be sure, I pinched myself.  Yup, not a dream, this is real.  Cheryl was a hippie girl.  She wore a very short dress and had long, blonde hair down almost to her waist.  With blue eyes, perfect teeth and flawless complexion, Cheryl possessed intoxicating beauty.  What in the world is going on here?

In a flash, my Supernatural detection system went haywire with alarm bells.  This could not be an accident.  When something is too good to be true, past experience had taught me to be on alert.  This was such a perfect set-up, even a socially awkward clod like myself had a shot at this girl.  Unbelievable.  Like they say, when Fate is involved, anything is possible.  It seemed to me like the Cosmic Social Director had lined me up with the hottest girl on the planet.  This was an extraordinary development.  I took a deep breath, a very deep breath.  Unnerved by this assault on my sense of Reality, I did my best to stay calm.  Good luck with that.  I was trembling and my heart beat rapidly.

Cheryl enjoyed my company.  She touched my arm several times to emphasize a point, sending shockwaves through me.  Hey, even a babe in the woods like me could read the signs.  If I could keep the conversation rolling, who knows where this evening might lead?  What should I do?  I decided it was in my best interest to chase the White Rabbit down into Wonderland and take my chances.  Hoping to continue the conversation, I brought up the rock groups we had come to see.  Cheryl wasted no time explaining that Eric Clapton of Cream was the main reason she was here tonight.  Eric who?  My mind was on Cheryl.

Cheryl's girlfriend was still in Dreamland, but not Cheryl.  She was very animated.  Her feet wiggled non-stop, her hands pounded on imaginary drums, she could not sit still.  Cheryl was also fighting a losing battle with her long blonde hair.  Due to her restless movements, her untamed hair frequently covered her face.  My favorite moment came when I used my hand to brush her hair out of her face.  I wasn't trying to be noble.  I did it so I could better appreciate her beauty.  When Cheryl smiled at my gesture, I melted. 

Determined to keep the conversation alive, I asked, "So, Cheryl, have you been to any previous concerts?"

"Yeah, I saw Jimi Hendrix back in February, but the show I want to see are the Doors next month.  I worship the ground Jim Morrison walks on."

My eyes widened.  "The Doors are my favorite rock group.  I already have tickets to the concert (well, actually I only had one ticket).  I love the Doors and I especially like Jim Morrison.  He writes his own music which is very intense.  'Light my Fire' is my favorite and I also like 'People are Strange'."

Any friend of Jim Morrison was a friend of Cheryl's.  The moment I said I liked Jim Morrison, Cheryl gripped my forearm with both hands and exclaimed, "Oh my God, are you serious!?  I worship Jim Morrison!"

I nodded.  "I agree, the guy's amazing.  Morrison is something else, he's very dark.  In the song 'When the Music's Over', I was shocked by the Oedipal reference

Cheryl shrieked with delight.  "Me too!  I love that song!  Jim is my absolute idol!"

Grinning from ear to ear, Cheryl was in ecstasy as she extolled her giant crush.

"All my girlfriends like the Beatles, but not me.  Whenever I listen to him sing, I lose control.  You're right about him being dark.  I like that about him.  I like guys who are scary, guys who think for themselves and refuse to fit in.  Besides, Jim Morrison is more beautiful than a Greek God.  I don't care what it costs, I intend to be in the front row at his concert.  I am going to scream and wave until he notices me."

Amused by her rapture, I remarked, "Cheryl, you have nothing to worry about, not with your looks.  I am very certain Jim Morrison will be unable to keep his eyes off you." 

With that, Cheryl impulsively kissed me on the cheek.  Wow, was I surprised.  I had just tried flattery for the first time ever.  Remind me to try it again sometime.  Cheryl got so excited, she grabbed my hand and would not let go.  Talking about Jim Morrison non-stop, all I had to do was smile and listen.  I noticed Cheryl was getting pretty worked up.  Her enthusiasm filled my mind with impure thoughts in the process.  I was probably not the first guy to ever piggyback a girl's fantasies, but as long as I stuck to Jim Morrison, this night was headed in the right direction. 

Imagine my sorrow when the lights went out.  The curtains rose and Vanilla Fudge opened with their signature song 'You Keep Me Hanging On'.  I was full of regret because the music and darkness made conversation impossible.  Oh well, I tried to be philosophical.  Be happy for the nice talk we shared.  However, to my surprise, Cheryl had other ideas.  Just then she grabbed my thigh with her right hand and squeezed.  Shock waves raced through me.  On impulse I grabbed her bare right leg and squeezed back.  I was stunned by my boldness.  I had never touched a woman's leg in my life.  Talk about Light my Fire!  This was really out of character for me.

I was incredulous to discover Cheryl had an even better idea.  Cheryl liked having her leg grabbed.  In a flash, she hopped in my lap.  Now I was electrified!!  What did I do to deserve this?  Well, this was no time for questions.  The kissing began immediately.  It was really dark in there which suited me just fine.  This girl really likes me!  Cured of any remaining shyness, I went for it.  My hands met no resistance as they explored those exquisite bare legs.  In response, Cheryl enthusiastically wrapped her arms around my neck and smothered my face with hers. 

Wow!  I was so turned on I could barely stand it.  We did not come up for air for a long time.  This was the night I learned that drugs do funny things to girls.  I had a feeling Cheryl was stoned out of her mind.  What other explanation could there be?  I didn't know much about drugs in those days, but for sure I was getting a long-awaited lesson in female anatomy courtesy of a mind-altering substance.  I am sure it was a good rock concert, but you will have to ask someone else.  We remained in passionate embrace for two hours. 

After the concert, I offered to help Cheryl get her still-comatose friend Patricia to the car.  Cheryl was quick to accept.  During the walk, I asked Cheryl to my Senior Prom.  It was a long shot, but I had to try.  To my surprise, Cheryl did not hesitate. 

"Sure!  Let's go!  When is it?"

"Uh, tomorrow night."  I frowned.  What were the odds that a girl with Cheryl's kind of looks would be free?  

Cheryl replied, "Oh, yes, perfect, that sounds like fun.  Where is it being held?"

Almost too stunned to speak, I whispered, "At the Bayou Club next to Memorial Park."

"Wow!  I've heard that place is really incredible.  What time should I be ready?"

As I carefully placed Patricia in the passenger seat, Cheryl wrote out her phone number and address.  After handing me the number, Cheryl rifled through Patricia's purse to find the key.  After a long, wonderful kiss and a big smile, Cheryl was off.

I was stunned.  Out of nowhere, I had a date for my Senior Prom.  I had not expected to attend, but that was before Cheryl appeared out of nowhere.  Cheryl's sudden entrance into my life had a definite feel of magic to it.  It seemed very strange that I had wished for a date to the prom and look what just happened.  Am I dreaming?  In the distance I could hear Jiminy Cricket singing 'When you Wish Upon a Star'.  Or maybe that was just my imagination.

As I drove home, one thing bothered me.  What was a girl who looked like Cheryl doing free on a Saturday night during Prom Season?

Age 18, June 1968, Saturday night

senior prom
 

My visit to the Prom was a curious reversal of the Cinderella fairy tale.  I played the role of a forlorn Cinder-Fella whose secret wish to attend the Ball has been granted.  Thanks to the intervention of an invisible fairy godmother, I was able to attend the Prom with this beautiful Princess at my side.  Cheryl was the most beautiful woman in the room.

As we walked in, the look of surprise on every face was priceless.  My wish had been granted.  Despite what had to be astronomical odds, Cheryl accomplished a miracle.  Her presence made exactly the impression on my classmates I had prayed for.  Here in the final moments of High School Hell, for at least this one night I could hold my head as high as the rest. 

Just as significant, I even made it out on the dance floor.  Considering my deep-seated fear of being laughed at, my decision to dance was almost as much a miracle as meeting Cheryl.  So where did I find the courage?  Cheryl had the perfect solution.  She made sure to bring along plenty of marijuana.  That stuff had to be strong because it got me out on the dance floor all night long.  My dancing was no doubt pathetic, but who cares?  Like David suggested, I waved my arms, I moved my hips, I had fun.  Meanwhile Cheryl was in her own little world.  Cheryl dreamed of Jim Morrison as she whirled around like a gypsy dervish.  Cheryl was happy, I was happy.  We danced the night away.

The crazy thing is how much I enjoyed the dancing.  Throughout high school I had always wanted to dance, but not once did I have the courage to get out there.  I hung back in the shadows and envied my classmates.  Here at my Prom, the opportunity to participate in the dancing was the answer to another prayer.  Best of all, I enjoyed myself.  I especially liked being in the middle of the action with my stunning date.  Cheryl more than held her own alongside the beautiful St. John's girls.  She barely said a word to anyone besides me, but so what?  All she had to do was smile and dance.  That did the trick.  The eyes of Texas were upon us.

I noticed how my classmates tracked Cheryl all night long.  The girls were curious, the boys were infatuated.  As well they should be.  Not surprisingly, once the boys saw Cheryl in action, they were mesmerized.  First they would stare at Cheryl for a while, then invariably they would turn their gaze on me with a quizzical smile.  I read their minds with wry glee. 

"Who is this girl?  Is she from an escort service?  How in the world did Rick Archer [of all people] land a date with this babe?"

There was an interesting side benefit to having this beautiful young lady at my side.  Cheryl's presence enhanced my value in the eyes of Carol Crosby, David's prom date.  David introduced Carol early in the evening.  Carol was a stunning girl in her own right.  Carol was very bright and possessed an hourglass figure.  The moment Cheryl and Carol locked eyes, rather than be rivals for the coveted honor of most attractive, they chose to be friends instead.  As outsiders, they understood the evening would go much easier if they forged a bond.  Consequently the four of us spent the Prom together.  Due to Carol's beauty, I could not help but sneak a peek anytime the opportunity arose.  I think Carol noticed my interest.  To my surprise, she made the first move.  When Cheryl went to the restroom, Carol came over to chat. 

"David told me you wrote your Senior thesis on The Graduate.  That is my favorite movie.  We should talk about it sometime.  I would be interested to know your thoughts."

Carol handed me her phone number and discretely drifted away before David could notice.  Over the summer, I would visit Carol at her house on several occasions.  Too bad she had a boyfriend.  But let's save that story for later.  The important thing is that I had finally tasted success.  Not just incremental success, but monumental success, the kind I could build on.  I had been granted favor by two of the most beautiful women I would ever meet.  This was the evidence I needed to challenge the deep-seated fears about my looks.

As for Cheryl, I made sure to remain at her side to discourage anyone from cutting in.  In addition I was smart enough to refrain from telling Cheryl about her symbolic value to me.  Cheryl had no idea she was the answer to my prayers.  However, I suppose she could tell by the curious expressions on my classmates' faces that something unusual was taking place.  I am certain Cheryl was used to being stared at, but maybe not quite to this extent.  Bemused, Cheryl played her part to perfection.  Even though one man after another came by to check her out, Cheryl declined offers to dance with anyone but me.  It was quite a thrill to have this beauty all to myself.  This was easily the best night of my life.  However, it was also a strange night.  Considering my four long years of intense loneliness, it was like someone decided I had suffered enough.  Why not free me from the Curse which had ruined my time at St. John's for this one final night?

Sad to say, all good things come to an end.  Close to midnight, Cheryl lured me into the lush gardens surrounding the country club.  She pulled out a giant reefer and lit up.  Based on the look in her eye, we were headed for a replay of last night's rock concert passion.  Since I was worried about driving home safely, I deliberately held back.  To my dismay, soon after we began to kiss, Cheryl passed out in my arms.  She was dead to the world.  Miserable to see my dream date unconscious, there was nothing I could do.  I decided to take Cheryl to the car so no one would see her in this condition.  Cheryl was barely able to walk, so I ended up carrying her.  I sat there in the car hoping Cheryl would revive, but after 20 minutes it looked hopeless.  Cheryl had a 1 am curfew, so I decided to take her home.

Can you imagine the look of horror I received from Cheryl's parents as I dragged their barely conscious daughter to the door?  Keep in mind her parents had no idea who I was.  Cheryl moaned some sort of 'Hi Mom, Hi Dad' on the steps to prove she was alive.  Then she staggered to the nearest couch and passed out again.  Furious, her father whirled on me.  He demanded I come inside to explain myself. 

Uh oh.  Time to face the music.  Fortunately I had danced off most of my high, so I was fairly alert.  It really helped that I was sober.  Otherwise I would have been in a world of trouble.  From that point, I relied on my prep school polish to save me.  I stood up straight, made eye contact, and turned on my best show of respect.  Making liberal use of 'Yes, sir', 'No, sir', 'Yes, ma'am', 'No, ma'am',  Cheryl's parents were impressed by my willingness to answer their pointed questions without a hint of guilt.  To my relief, that did the trick. 

It helped considerably that I had returned Sleeping Beauty on time and in mint condition.  She clearly had not been harmed in any way, so that was a major point in my favor.  However, there was one serious unanswered question.  Why is Cheryl unconscious?  As expected, Cheryl's father asked me to explain why his daughter was comatose.  I swore up and down that Cheryl was exhausted from all the dancing.  I could see her father was pretty skeptical, but to my surprise he let me off the hook.  Why?  I got the feeling he already knew the answer.  That is when I noticed Cheryl's mother rifling through her daughter's purse.  Uh oh.  Cheryl could be in big trouble.

Sure enough, Cheryl's mother found the marijuana.  Then she found pills.  Holding them up, Cheryl's mother looked at her husband to see what he thought.  He shook his head in despair.  I think they already knew Cheryl had a drug problem.  Fortunately for me, they sensed this was probably not my fault.  In fact, I think her parents thanked their lucky stars that I seemed to be decent.  One glance at their helpless daughter passed out on the couch was all it took to realize I had done them a real favor by bringing her home safely.  At that point, their suspicion turned to gratitude.  I may have been a deeply troubled kid, but at least my heart was in the right place.

When I called Cheryl the next day, she was in a really bad mood.  She confirmed that after I left, her parents had read her the riot act.  Cheryl confided she had more than just marijuana in her purse, she had pills too.  She said that is why she passed out like she did.  After her parents confronted her, she was grounded for a month.  Not the best way to start summer vacation.   At this point, Cheryl turned hostile.  She chewed me out for not having the sense to look through her purse before bringing her in.  Before I could defend myself, Cheryl abruptly said she had to go.  I got the message... don't call back. 

I was not upset over the brush off.  Rather than be crushed, I was thrilled just to have met her.  Cheryl was so far out of my league it was ridiculous.  While driving Cheryl home, I had already reached the conclusion I had no business dating a girl of this caliber in the first place.  In other words, be happy for the blessing I received.  I felt like Cheryl had been sent to fulfill my wish.  Cheryl had walked onto the stage, played her part to perfection, then disappeared into the ether.  I thanked my lucky stars for this surprising chance to finish my St. John's career with my head held high.  What a wonderful gift.