Judy(James brown) Looking back on our lives lived, we have remembrances we like to tell. Most are boring and with filtered memory, make us appear swell.

Then there are reminisced stories told when we drank too much afterwards we wished we hadn’t said. Although more interesting, they expose our stupidity best unveiled.

I’m not talking about these.

I’m talking about memories stuffed in the bottom of our subconscious well, the recollection niche too painful to let the mind go into and dwell.

Only in old age, can I finally recollect and this old memory tell.

Her name was Judy. She’d transferred as a junior from afar to my high school. Knowing none, she was free of prior grade and intermediate school clique baggage, a fresh flower.

I, a junior too, played football, took wood shop, and with my 53 Chevy convertible was an outer member of the school’s male in clique. My statues, however, was fragile. I had a teenage insecurity, girls.

They dressed to impress, changed attire to match the season, and a few overtly adorned themselves to sexually encourage wanton thoughts.

Many were pretty, some beautiful and all were interesting. Up close they smelled wonderful. The problem was, I didn’t know what or who they were. To me they were mysterious unknown entities, desperately wanted, but of uncertain access.

Complicating my interest was a personal character flaw, pride. Despite obvious evidence to the contrary, I assumed superiority over others. While wanting to engage female charms, I was terrified of rebuke, therefore shy.

Only a girl of certain quality, was suitable for my imagined status. She had to be beautiful and exhibit both Madonna and Mary Magdalen characteristics and accept me as Sir Lancelot.

To remain in the school’s outer limits of male in clique, I needed to attend the Junior Prom. That required a formal date with a girl, but for me, one who slated my pride, a girl exhibiting my desired traits.

I was realistic enough to not attempt to reach up to a cheerleader but she had to be beautiful enough to make my in status secure.

Passing the throngs in the corridors between classes I noticed Judy. Dark Irish, she had long black hair and watery blue eyes which her clear, unblemished white skin set in contrast. About 5 foot-five, dark curls caressed the nape of her neck. She wasn’t pretty, she was beautiful.

Judy as a transfer student had not yet registered on the male in clique radar scope, a beautiful sleeper, unnoticed by male “ultra in” competition.

She wasn’t in any of my classes. Wearing my block sweater, I stopped her when passing in the corridor and asked for her phone number. She gave it willingly.

I called her from the car lot I worked at in the evenings. There, once all had left, alone in the office after polishing the cars, I built up courage, sorted out potential responses to avoid rejection, and dared to call.

I kept the first 2 calls short with the explanation I was working and was sneaking in a call on the office phone. Hopefully this increased my status of having a job, allowed a quick hang up of pretending to be caught but was only to seek assurance I would not be rejected.

She sounded pleased, I’d called. With 2 assurances, on the third, I took a deep breath, risked my pride and asked her if she would go to the prom with me.

She said YES!

Going to the prom was a big expense for us both. I purchased the bid ticket, bought her a corsage, rented a tux and made reservations at Hawaiian Gardens, the big time for high school prom goers.

My 53 Chevy convertible required cleaning and waxing. My expenses were nothing compared to her gown, shoes and hair expenditures and girl preparations.

The big Friday night came. Bathed, shaved, and tux attired, I got my wallet, checked to see there was $100, got my car keys and opened my top dresser drawer, the one I threw important stuff into.

The prom bid ticket wasn’t there.

I looked in another drawer, then another, by the time I finished searching the bedroom looked like a whirlwind had hit. It had. Next came the car. I didn’t climb under it but came close to doing it. Every crevasse, storage space, and cranny were visited, but to no avail.

Eventually it was time to pick up Judy, late, or not at all. I didn’t have the bid ticket. I left without it.

Judy opened the door. The parents insisted on pictures. I bluffed my way forward, mind racing with hopeful lies to myself. The big one, the final one, was we’d simply be let in.

I mean, who would go to the prom if they hadn’t bought the bid? Insanity, no one would. Perhaps they didn’t even ask for a bid at the door.

Other hopes did spring to mind.

Yes! It must be in my school locker! That’s it, I forgot to bring it home.

There were eight of us seated at a Hawaiian Gardens table. It was a warm Fall evening and Hawaiian Gardens kept a semi outdoor décor as if really in Hawaii. The four couples were in a jovial mood. Two males were friends since second grade, a relaxing evening except for me. I knew something ugly was coming, something only me could be so stupid to let happen, to not have a prom bid ticket at the door.

Increasing my agony was Judy. At the dinner table she had a touch of mirth, bending her beauty a little from the center point of the Madonna image to a touch of wanton Mary Magdalen, the perfect blend of femininity. Every glance at her increased my stupidity guilt.

With the dessert plates removed, the checks paid, we scrambled out to the evening and got in our cars, back when the door was always opened first for the girl. Inside, Judy scooted over and unlocked the driver’s door for me. Parked near the school auditorium, we walked to the doors fate, she unconcerned, me doomed.

At the entrance, peeking inside, the auditorium was beautifully decorated, documentation the hefty bid ticket price money was aptly spent. The band’s music played clear. The Home Economics teacher guarding the entrance, one I knew nothing about, asked for my bid ticket. What could I say? I couldn’t say it was stolen, I had no suspect. I could only reply,

“I lost it.”

This is where a minor thing determines one’s fate. I don’t know the actual odds, but I’d guess half of the persons in that position would look us over and would say,

“Bring it next time!”,

Or “See me Monday!”

At least say, “Then you must still pay the bid price!” which I had money to cover.

But fate betrayed me.

The Home Economics teacher was too unsure of her position in the school hierarchy to make a decision, an unprecedented one. She simply replied,

“Wait, until I get those in line in and then I’ll see if there is something we can do.”

So, it started, we stood by the door as the others trooped in, the girls all dressed in beautiful gowns with corsages while Judy sat on a folding chair brought out for her, uncertain but embarrassed of what fate had dealt her.

Eventually the vice principal showed up. He was a good man, but things had escalated making his decision more formal. He inquired in detail where my prom bid could have been mislaid. The only two options I could think of were my football locker or school corridor locker.

So, the quest began, the long walk to the football field and locker room, desperate search through stinky, sweaty football gear, then the opening of the school and the march to my corridor locker and its disembowelment.

After shifting through the last of my English papers, sanity returned to the vice principal.

“Jim, there’s a beautiful girl out there all dressed up waiting to dance.
Go dance with her!”

The prom was a little more than half over. Everyone in school knew now who Judy was, the beautiful girl abandoned at the prom’s entrance. The male big boys on campus had discovered Santa Clara’s beautiful hidden gem.

The prom over, we drove home in silence. What was there to say? I walked her to the door. The porch light was on. I wanted to kiss her, wanted to do more, say more but simply said,

“I’m sorry.”

And walked away.

I never called her again, veered to another path if she was coming down the corridor, shut the experience out of my mind, buried it all deep into a memory well and sealed the lid.

Judy’s beauty was discovered. Soon she had a steady boyfriend, one she married on graduation. They’re still married 63 years later and have a wonderful family. She wasn’t a Madonna or Mary Magdalen of my mind. Instead, she was a beautiful high school girl who became a beautiful wife, mother and now grandmother.

I’ve gone to my 20-, 30-, 40- and 50-year high school reunions. Judy has always been the most beautiful woman there, matched only by my wife. She always comes to my table and kisses me, in front of her husband and my wife, for the lost kiss under her porch light of our prom night.

She told my wife; I’d lost the high school prom bid ticket.

My wife replied,

“That sounds like Jim alright!”

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