Promdate

Prom… prom, right? it’s a huge day, isn’t it? One of the most important days in a life of a high schooler if I may. You’re all 18; drama, teenage love, alcohol, pretty dresses and fancy suits. An end, a start, a middle ground, all at once. Shallow hookups and painful hangovers, it’s all part of the charm, part of the charm of being a teenage dirtbag that acts like they have nothing to lose, while having the burden in the face of years of the inevitable future weigh down their shoulders. Suddenly, the two-week relationship with John from A seems like true, everlasting love, just because he asked you for a dance at this magical occasion. You’re all grown up now, aren’t you? Or is it an illusion of the swollen mind of a young adult, trapped in a cage of self-centred arrogance and inexperienced superiority, restricted by the walls of the tunnelled vision that refuses to see the imperfections of your self created world, until that world collapses, burying you under the shambles of the answers you thought had, just to reveal the lack of those behind the cracks and the debris? Or maybe it isn’t so deep, and we are just over engineering a simple concept, who knows?

But what if… what if you are born outside of the convenient tunnel that your peers look through? What if no matter how loud you scream for them to see you, they will only see your shadow, the shadow, that takes a different form, depending on in which direction the light of their tunnel faces. What if they will never, ever, ever, ever see the person behind the distorted black blob of unnatural shapes, that they believe you to be. What if the tunnelled perception of your shadow never allows them to see the person behind the illusion of the light that their own predispositions created, to glance past the fear that they themselves made up. What if their minds will dance around the idea and move the light-source around, to shape the shadow in a shape that fits their narrative of what they claim the nature of your being to be? What if this biased perception, will prevent them from ever seeing you as a human being, of someone similar to themselves, of someone worthy of a place under the umbrella of human rights? And how can you expect empathy from anyone towards something as inhumane, as you? Don’t be ridiculous child, they are justified in stoning something like you, it’s not their fault you were born after all.

The oppressive quiet of the barn was broken only by the soft crunch of hay beneath the horses’ hooves. My rhythmic scooping echoed hollowly in the vast space. A sigh escaped my lips as I leaned against the weathered stall wall, seeking solace in its familiar coolness. This was my sanctuary, my refuge whenever the world felt overwhelming. In the dim light, an empty bottle of liquor sat accusingly on the dusty floor, its companions – a trail of beer cans and a lone vodka bottle – scattered like the desperate last gasps of fading sanity. Like a snail trail, the cans‘ descent from casual beer to the fiery bite of vodka mirrored the growing turmoil of the consumer.

With a shaky hand, I fished a cigarette from my crumpled pack, the scratch of paper against my teeth, a grounding sensation amidst the swirling chaos. Before I could light it, a voice, as unexpected as a bolt of lightning, shattered the silence.

“Hey there, pretty boy, need a lighter~?” Rex’s voice, laced with amusement, sent a jolt through me. I whirled around, startled, my eyes widening as they landed on his familiar form. Rex leaned nonchalantly against the fence, his signature black dreadlocks bouncing in a ponytail like a playful puppy’s tail.

“What are you doing here, dumbass? Also not at prom?” I managed, attempting a feigned annoyance. But the small smile tugging at the corner of my lips betrayed my true feelings.

“Meh, Prom’s overrated. Or is Lucy maybe just heartbroken about missing out on the dance~?” Rex quipped, his voice tinged with playful mockery. In a single, fluid motion, he vaulted the fence, his muscular form landing silently beside me.Before I could react, he snatched the cigarette from my grasp, our faces inches apart for a fleeting moment. With a mischievous grin, he pulled away, taking a long drag.

“Hey!” I sputtered, a mix of surprise and amusement bubbling up within me. It was pointless to protest; Rex was impervious to my half-hearted attempts at authority. Defeated, I slumped back against the stall wall. “No, dumbass, that’s not it – hey! What are you doing?!”

Ignoring my protests, Rex grabbed my wrist with a playful tug. Before I could regain my balance, I found myself stumbling forward, landing unceremoniously against his broad chest. “Whattt~?” he drawled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Is something wrong~?”, Rex’s infectious laugh, brimming with sunshine and optimism, erupted like a balm on my soul. Ignoring my protests, he reveled in my flustered state.

“Come on, horse boy,” Rex said, his voice laced with playful teasing. His laugh, genuine and contagious, could turn even the worst day around. Even through my jumbled mess of emotions, a flicker of something warm ignited within me. It was a confusing mix of pain and a strange sense of liberation, a bittersweet comfort. Rex’s smirk widened as his hand slid to my waist. He pulled me into a clumsy waltz across the dusty barn floor.

“Don’t be such a grouch,” he chuckled, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Here you go, your prom night dance.~”

I stumbled along, clinging to his shoulders for balance. My cheeks burned a furious red as I stared at his smug grin. One part of me felt flustered and embarrassed, while the other grappled with a hollow emptiness that threatened to consume me. Rain? It couldn’t be raining; we were inside. Then why were there water droplets tracing hot paths down my face?

“Rex, come on,” a weak chuckle escaped my lips, morphing into a strangled sob mid-breath.

“Prom night, Lucy! You can’t just clean horse poop all night!” Rex exclaimed, pulling me into another spin before stopping with a final flourish. “Come on, have some fun! You deserve it!”

“Fun?” I choked out, a laugh bubbling up through the tears. “Is this your idea of fun, you idiot?”

“Don’t cry, dummy,” he said, his voice softening. “Not tonight. Everything’s gon‘ be alright. We’re gonna make it out.” Rex, this golden retriever boy with boundless energy, flashed me a goofy grin on his stupid face. Despite its naive simplicity, it was a lifeline I clung to desperately, like a drowning man to oxygen. I simply nodded, wiping away tears with trembling fingers, gasping for air between choked sobs and loud laughter.

Lucas

Rex