Raining on Prom Night

2011-07-12, 10:14 p.m.
(Written in chunks so a bit disjointed. Ends badly � be warned)

So, Lambkins, here�s the news.

Last Friday was Prom Night. As proms hadn�t crossed the pond when I was 16, I�d never been to one before. Pre-a few years ago, the best an English schoolgirl could hope for was a crummy disco in the gym, with plastic cups of warm squash for refreshment. Sat on the gym benches in a glum row, while a dad from the PTA played records we didn�t like on a scratchy old turntable. If we were lucky, the boys from the neighbouring school (and a few carefully chosen brothers � mine included) would be invited � they�d be sat in a row of gym benches on the other side of the room, scoping out the talent�OK, scratch that, they�d be awarding points in some kind of complicated game of �most likely to cop a feel off�. I sometimes won that game and was honoured with an inexpert fumble behind the lockers with some over-confident octopus who reeked of Eau Sauvage and desperation.

At ten o�clock sharp, after the requisite ONE slow dance (with teachers patrolling the room to ensure propriety!)all the lights would come on at once � lovebites would go unfinished, jackets hastily buttoned over teenage erections and couples would spring apart as tho magnetically repelled, as the switching-on-of-the-lights coincided to the millisecond with the letting-in-of-the-parents.

There�d be at least one girl crying at any given time, the neighbouring schoolboys would fight with the brothers (usually over a tarty 5th former who�d be playing one off against the other!), everyone would be just a little bit bored with an overriding sense of disappointment. Even the girls who�d copped off would feel somehow disadvantaged�.especially if Guy Grindle had taken advantage of the half-light and swooped down on some hapless cow before her friends had had a chance to warn her.

Guy Grindle was known as �The Egg Snake�. To this day, thrity years later, I remain convinced that he was able to unhinge his jaw whilst homing in for a snog, in the manner of a snake eating an egg. His poor victim�s face would entirely disappear into the yawning chasm and then reappear, some minutes later, covered with a thick film of drool (occasionally with added morsels of crisps, for decoration) � her maquillage slurped off, fringe stuck clammily to her forehead and gasping for air in a fair representation of Shelley Winters, emerging triumphant in The Poseidon Adventure.

Guy Grindle homes in for a snog
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Shelley Winters emerges, traumatised, from his salivory embrace
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Heeheehee! I just Faceb00k searched Guy Grindle (No! Don�t do it! I changed his name in case he�s in the habit of googling himself. If you FB Guy Grindle you get a completely different person whom, I am sure, is NOT a terrible kisser!). Anyway, the REAL Egg Snake is, you will doubtless be unsurprised to know, still single. Don�t bother snapping him up, girls�unless you really could do with a cut-price facial.

Anyways, its all different now, and its all about ostentation and ginormous meringue frocks in colours never seen in nature. Fake tan, acrylic nails, hair extensions, limousines. A sit-down meal in a country house hotel. A smattering of teachers trying (and failing) to look cool on the dancefloor. A prom king and queen � the whole nine yards.

The departing Year 11s (15/16 year olds) were not really how I expected them to be � they�ve not been in school for a few weeks now as they�ve all officially left � they were sweetly pleased to see their former tormenters and had conveniently forgotten all the shit we gave them to try to get them through their GCSEs. I was hugged, squeezed, told I was �epic� and �a legend� and then one boy held on a little bit longer and said �You�ve done loads for me, Miss. Not just the maths and geography and all that, but, like�like a proper person. You�re like another mum, you are.� Then I got something in my eye and had to go to the loo as it looked a little bit like I was crying, which was preposterous of course.

The boys were all desperately trying to �out-man� each other � swaggering cocksure through the throng, slapping teachers on the back, striking James Bond poses in their rented tuxedos, smoking cigars on the veranda (!) and not caring if we heard them swearing. One or two braver ones could be seen, gallantly dancing with the younger, slimmer female teachers�

The girls, Oh! The Girls! Every shade of shiny taffeta, crusted with rhinestones and sequins. Almost nobody could walk in their shoes and every hairdo was an up-do; adorned on top with tiara and at the back with princess extensions in sausagey ringlets. It was as though My Big Fat Gypsy Wedding had collided headlong into a truck carrying highlighter ink. EVERY girl looked triumphant and beautiful in that way that only those untouched by years of�.LIFE�can look.

This afternoon, just after 2nd break, we were all called into the sports hall for an emergency assembly. Oddly, the children seemed to sense something wasn�t right and sat silently. There weren�t even the usual �what do you think we�re in trouble for now?� mutterings.

The headteacher told everyone that one of our year 11 girls had died.

Then she dismissed all the children and sent them home.

Then she told all the staff that this girl had gone missing last night and hadn�t come home. After years of mental illness and a very difficult childhood, she had hung herself from a tree in the woods near her house.

I sat next to this girl for a year in Maths class. When I saw her on Friday at The Prom she was resplendent; scarlet gown twinkling with rhinestones, Barbie blonde curls cascading over her shoulders, stepping out of a limo with a regal wave and a beatific smile on her face. She sat with us after the dinner and told us about the childcare course she�d be taking next term. She said she thought she�d done enough to get an A in her Art GCSE and was pleased that her work was going to be in an exhibition. We told her how it was all plain sailing from now � no education she HAD to do, just all the things she WANTED to do, and she agreed with us and said it was all going to be brilliant.

I am beyond sad that the peace she so desperately wanted had to come at such a high price.

I have a photo of her that I took on Prom Night. I thought I might paste it on here but I cant bear to look at it.

Later
S
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