How to Succeed in Business….
It’s 1987, my senior year in high school and I am friendless during my final semester. What should have been months of good times were very lonely as I shuttled between home, school and my job in my 1981 Chevy Chevette.
Although largely without talent, I nonetheless participated in all of my high schools musicals ( I was a cheerleader too, which meant something very different at this school). Rehearsals were several times a week in the months leading up to the performances and then every night leading up to dress rehearsal and opening night. The experience wasn’t complete without the ubiquitous director meltdown where Mr. Lovestad would shout that we were never going to be ready for opening night, blah, blah, blah. Of course, right after that we’d execute perfectly.
My dance partner that year was with a guy that I really liked a lot. Although not conventionally attractive, he was so nice to me. And he was the first guy from my high school who made me feel normal.
Which of courseI was anything but. Ferris was from a well-off family and although a grade behind me, he was popular with the girls in my class and well-liked and I was really excited that we were hitting it off so well.
For opening night he gave me a dozen long-stemmed roses and invited me to my senior prom and I was beyond thrilled. I had even by then dated some pretty big zeros but “Ferris” was the kind of guy that I knew my family would like and I was just so excited.
The Saturday after the musical was over and we celebrated at the cast party, I flew with several girls in my high-school class to Spring Break in the Bahamas, a trip scheduled during the fall when we were all still getting along. I was well on the outs with all of them by then and was feeling a general sense of malaise about the trip. No one wanted to hang out with me and even though it was spring break, I was incredibly lonely and thought about Ferris constantly.
After being ignored by my friends I sought out other spring breaker (s) and hooked up with a guy who later showed up in my freshman orientation at KU where I got to introduce him to my mom. I also hooked up with another guy who I later learned had slept with at least 2 other girls in my class and much later would become the love object for my friend in Colorado.
There are no Hallmark sentiments for being the class slut because had there been, I’m sure I could have papered my high-school locker with cards when I returned from spring break. Instead, I endured the hallway giggles and quickly ceased conversations as I walked from class to class. A few days later, Ferris called off our prom date.
To say that I was humiliated would be accurate but it doesn’t capture the shame that I felt at having behaved inappropriately, disrespecting myself and having a boy who I really like reject me because of it. I took very little ownership of my culpability at the time choosing to believe instead that I was the victim of baseless rumors and that Ferris didn’t care about me enough to give me the benefit of the doubt. I wanted him to understand that even at 17, I had already been subjected to a lifetime of rejection. I wanted to tell him that the boys I’d hooked up with in Nassau meant nothing to me- that I’d only been trying to fit in- and to feel better about having been so summarily dismissed by my friends. With my defense mechanisms in overdrive, I was so enraged at the double standard. Boys could do whatever they wanted to with whomever they wanted, but I’m the slut? Really?
Well, yeah. Really. As it turns out. I was. With very little supervision from my mom and virtually no male father figure, I did a shitty job navigating sex. As in, I shouldn’t have been having any. I received nearly all of my self esteem from the approval from my girlfriends- and I wanted to be like them both. Each in sexual relationships with boyfriends who worshipped them.
But back to Ferris. This is the second time I’ve told this story in the last 6 months. I tell it again now because Ferris has been a “suggested” friend of mine on face-book through another mutual classmate of ours who either knows the back-story or doesn’t. He looks the same with the engaging smile and a cheerfulness in his picture that makes him seem younger than he is.
This story has two post scripts of some note. The first is that Ferris went on to date and then marry a sorority sister of mine. I wasn’t close with this girl but I do remember feeling a sting. The second is that I did finally get asked, very late, to prom by a classmate who if possible was even more on the “outs” than I was. I didn’t have a good time; Ferris was there with his date and I’m sure that the guy who asked me thought he was going to get laid. Looking back on it now, I’m not sure I blame him for thinking that way.
I look at my life now and happily, miraculously even, I’ve made peace with the girl that I was in 1987.
I feel sorry for her.
Java Jennifer:
A friend of me sent me your blog address and I have enjoyed reading your posts. Up until now I haven’t commented on any of them (although I’ve enjoyed them), but this one hit home for me. Many of us are encouraged by our therapists to write — ever hear of journaling? — about the past to help us let go of negative memories. But few of us have the courage to post those thoughts on blogs. So my hat is off to you for the gutsy move. I suspect this is a great way to dump negative thoughts and, at the same time, let others know that they aren’t alone out there with unhappy memories from the recent or not-so-recent past. And I love your quirky writing style. Keep up the good work!