Reach for the stars

"Owen Frentis," she said with a pleased smile. "What can I do for you today?"

"Not today ... but ... this Friday," I respond, the nervousness -- no, the FEAR! -- more than evident in my voice. "You know Prom's this weekend, right?"

"I heard."

I wasn't sure whether she was toying with me or not. EVERY one knew this Prom was this weekend, from my class mates to the postal carrier to the dog groomer. Our town wasn't big enough for the dead and comatose to NOT know it was Prom weekend.

"Well, I was wondering," I continued, my eyes on the ground before me and I tried to screw up my courage, "if you would ... if you would go to the prom with me ... or ... if you weren't interested in that ... if you didn't think it was appropriate for us to go together, WHICH, I suppose it might not be..."

"Whatcha trying to get at, Owen," she said as she tried desperately to hold back the laughter until AFTER I had finished. "Spit it out."

"Well ... if you didn't want to go to the Prom with me ... maybe ... possibly ... you would just think, you know ... about maybe going to dinner with me afterward ... and ... well ... maybe going to a motel ... you know ... to be alone ... together ... alone together."

I was trembling, expecting her to explode in laughter.

Instead, she asked bluntly, "Are you asking me to sleep with you, Owen?"

I hesitated, then -- unable to verbalize an answer -- only nodded my head energetically.

I looked to her when she didn't respond. She wore an expression of dismay as she said, "Owen ... do you think ... do you really think that that is a good idea? I mean after all, I am ..."