As for me, I'm drinking my green tea and desperately trying to upload more photos up onto the site. Technical difficulties abound. Despite this temporary roadblock, onward I march, valiantly climbing that mountain otherwise known as "the Internet." Sneaky little bastard.
Speaking of the World Wide Web, whatever happened to Y2K? You know, the collapse of industrialized society as we know it, electronic armageddon, bomb shelters, fear, propaganda, the whole works?
April, 1999: it's the eight grade dance. My hair is long and pulled back in the front. Landon, childhood friend-turned boyfriend three years later-turned back to friend a year after that, is my date. Having hit puberty earlier that year just in time for football season, his tall, bulky awkwardness borders on cute; he hands me a corsage. His mother takes our picture and I officially turn a deep shade of scarlet to match my burgundy dress. It's short, not floor-length like most of the other girls' dresses. And, unlike them, I didn't have my hair and makeup done at the salon down the street. They look older, more mature, developed in all the right places. I look down at my own adolescent body: my boobs seem to be getting bigger every day, an observation that is the source of more embarrassment than pride. I can just make out my toes past their protrusion. Damn it. My strappy white sandals have bows on them. How 6th grade of me. Shit.
Landon and I finally wave goodbye to his mom and make our way towards the overly-decorated cafeteria turned dance hall. The theme of the evening is "Cinderella's Castle," explaining why we are each handed a plastic slipper and magic wand at the door. Landon and I exchange amused looks. I see my best friend, Hannah running towards me. From the neck down, she looks like a princess. My heart sinks. Her dress is beautiful. It's long (of course) and sparkly with an empire waste and split overlay that cascades down from her cleavage in a giant upside down V. Wow. Her boobs look amazing in that dress. She looks like Drew Barrymore in Ever After.
Hannah says a brief hello to Landon and then directs her attention towards me.
"Wow, Candace, you look amazing!"
"Yeah, so do you."
There is a pause. Hannah is obviously waiting for me to say more, to comment on her dress, her manicured nails, her fake eyelashes.
"So...nice dress." I say in a vague attempt at hiding my envy behind a veil of complimentary conversation.
"You like it? My grandma bought it for me. It cost $400." Her eyes protrude at the mention of money. Evidently Hannah mistakes the blank expression on my face as a request for more information. She continues:
"My grandma says that the world is going to end in about six months anyway. You know, Y2K. We saw this dress in the store and she said she just had to buy it for me, even though she didn't really have the money. 'Well, it ain't like any of us is gonna live to see your prom, so we might as well do what we can now.' That's what she said. Grandma is a little nutty, but maybe she's right, ya know? She has a whole cellar full of canned goods and potatoes that she's been saving for four years now. I tell you what, when the shit starts flyin,' at least i'll know where to go to get some good canned corn!"
Landon laughs.
I should probably laugh too, but I can't help but notice that Hannah's hair is a bit lop-sided and some of the bobby-pins are sticking out obtrusively. It would probably only take one little pull of a pin to cause the whole beehive to come crashing down. My eyes scrunch up as my right hand twitches. I'm about to go in for the kill when Hannah catches the eye of another innocent friend to pounce upon. She runs in the opposite direction, heels clicking upon the cement floor. Her hair comes to a stop behind her, swaying from the sudden movement. Oh well. It's probably for the best. Besides, it would be a shame to ruin the poor girls' night on account of my own pettiness.
It is her last six months on earth, after all.
