The Station Wagon

I went to three proms during my high school career.

This is nothing to be proud of. It's just something that happened. The first year, I was a sophomore. I was asked two weeks before the prom and had to borrow a dress from some woman my mom worked with. It was pale pink and had a hoop. A hoop, for goodness sake.

But that dance was okay. I didn't end up going out with that guy again after that date but...whatever.

I went to my junior prom with one of my best friends. Dave and Jason and Roxann and I were best friends that year. We had so much fun together and in the all of our junior year, months before the prom was even being discussed, we decided we'd all go together. Ooooh, the fun we had.

Of course, by the time prom rolled around, I had a 'boyfriend.' I put that in quotes because, well, we'd sort of started dating a few months before the prom and as the day approached, he started getting all possessive about me going with another guy.

An example of my teenage attitude is that I didn't break that date with Dave. I told the 'boyfriend' that I'd made this date months ago and refused to break it. He was mad, but I knew he'd get over it. And if he didn't? Well, I guess he wasn't worth my time after all.

But then he told me that he wanted me to agree to go to my senior prom with him, so that no matter what, even if we were broken up by then, I'd go with him.

Whatever.

By the spring of my senior year, things were deteriorating between me and the 'boyfriend.' We were still together, but it was going downhill. I knew it and I think he knew it. But he was holding on for dear life.

Why? I'm not sure.

But as we made plans for that prom, I casually mentioned that I didn't plan to ride to the prom in his mother's station wagon.

Oooh, the drama that insued.

Looking back, I don't know why I chose to make a big deal out of the station wagon. I really don't. I think maybe I was trying to piss him off enough to break up with me. Maybe I wanted it to be over but wasn't in that big a hurry to end it myself.

Who knows what's going on in the mind of an eighteen year old? Probably not the eighteen year old, is what I'm saying.

So we fought. We fought daily about the car. I told him I'd borrow my mom's Zephyr and meet him at the prom. I suggested I just pick him up and drive us there myself.

He was adament that he drive. He insisted that he pick me up.

I said, "Okay, but don't show up in your mom's station wagon."

I was such a bitch. Yet at the time I felt entitled to insist upon this. It was important to me at that time to take that stand. And I did. I absolutely refused to budge on this issue.

And in the end, he borrowed a friend's car and picked me up. And we had a totally crappy time at the prom. And then we broke a month later.

But I did not arrive at my senior prom in a station wagon. And at eighteen, that was an important thing.

I kind of want to find that bitchy side of myself again. Not to pick fights with my husband over stupid things like vehicles. But to know that sense of self-worth. That sense of entitlement. To honestly and completely believe that hell yes, I'm worth this fight and I'm not backing down.

Yeah, I'm taking stock and making changes. Refinding myself.

I almost feel sorry for my husband. Except, not really a lot because I think the happier I am, the more fulfilled I am, the happier our entire family will be. Yes, I believe that completely. Oh yeah, that eighteen year old is still alive inside. I just have to let her out a little more often.