Too bad he still thinks the prom is lame. But whatever. Having your pregnant mother pass out in the refrigerated section of the Grand Union has a way of putting things into perspective.
And now I know that, much as I would have loved to have gone, the prom is not really important. What is important is family togetherness, and being with the ones you love, and being blessed with good health, and—
Oh God, what am I talking about? Of COURSE I still want to go to the prom. Of COURSE it’s still killing me inside that Michael refuses even to entertain the IDEA of going.
I fully brought it up right there in the St. Vincent’s ER waiting room. I was helped, of course, by the fact that there’s a TV in the waiting room, and that the TV was turned to CNN, and that CNN was doing a story on proms and the trend toward separate proms in many urban high schools— you know, like one prom for the white kids, who dance around to Eminem, and one prom for the African-American students, who dance around to Ashanti.
Only at Albert Einstein, there is only one prom, because Albert Einstein is a school that promotes cultural diversity and plays both Eminem and Ashanti at its events.
So since we were still waiting for my mom to get through with her Ringer’s lactate, and we were all three of us just sitting there—me, Michael, and Lars—watching the TV and the occasional ambulance that came rolling in, bringing yet another patient to the ER, I went to Michael, “Come on. Doesn’t that look like fun?”
Michael, who was watching the ambulance and not the TV, went, “Getting your chest cracked open with a rib spreader in the middle of Seventh Avenue? Not really.”
“No,” I said. “On the TV. You know. Prom.”
Michael looked up at the TV, at all the students dancing in their formalwear, and went, “No.”
“Yeah, but seriously. Think about it. It might be cool. You know. To go and make fun of.” This was not really my idea of a perfect prom night, but it was better than nothing. “And you don’t have to wear a tux, you know. I mean, there’s, like, no rule that says you do. You could just wear a suit. Or not even a suit. You could wear jeans and one of those T-shirts that look like a tux.”
Michael looked at me like he thought I might have dropped a globe on my head.
“You know what would be even more fun?” he said. “Bowling.”
I heaved this enormous sigh. It was sort of hard to have this intensely personal conversation there in the St. Vincent’s ER waiting room, because not only was my bodyguard sitting RIGHT THERE, but so were all these sick people, some of whom were coughing EXTREMELY loudly right in my ear.
But I tried to remember the fact that I am a gifted healer and should be tolerant of their disgusting germs.
“But Michael,” I said. “Seriously. We could go bowling any old night. And frequently do. Wouldn’t it be more fun, just once, to get all dressed up and go dancing?”
“You want to go dancing?” Michael perked up. “We could go dancing. We could go to the Rainbow Room if you want. My parents go there on their anniversary and stuff. It’s supposed to be really nice. There’s live music, really great old-time jazz, and—”
“Yeah,” I said. “I know. I’m sure the Rainbow Room is very nice. But I mean, wouldn’t it be nice to go dancing some place with PEOPLE OUR OWN AGE?”
“Like from AEHS?” Michael looked skeptical. “I guess so. I mean, if, like, Trevor and Felix and Paul were going to be there—” These are the guys from his band. “But you know, they wouldn’t be caught dead at something as lame as the prom.”
OH, MY GOD. It is EXTREMELY hard to be life-mates with a musician. Talk about marching to your own drummer. Michael marches to his own BAND.
I know Michael and Trevor and Felix and Paul are cool and all, but I still fail to see what is so lame about the prom. I mean, you get to elect a prom king and queen. At what other social function do you get to elect monarchs to rule over the proceedings? Hello, how about none.
But whatever. I am not going to let Michael’s refusal to act like a typical male seventeen-year-old get in the way of my enjoyment of this evening. You know, the family togetherness my mom and Mr. G and I are currently having. We are all having a nice time watching Miracle Pets. An old lady had a heart attack and her pet pig walked TWENTY miles to get help.
Fat Louie wouldn’t walk to the corner to get help for me. Or he might, but he would soon be distracted by a pigeon and run off, never to be seen again, while my corpse rotted on the floor.
ASPERGER’S SYNDROME
A Report by Mia Thermopolis
The condition known as Asperger’s syndrome (a type of Pervasive Developmental Disorder) is marked by an inability to function normally in social interactions with others.
(Wait a minute…. this sounds like… ME!).
The person suffering from Asperger’s exhibits poor non-verbal communication skills (oh, my God—this is ME!!!!!!!!!), is unsuccessful in developing relationships with peers (also me), does not react appropriately in social ituations (ME ME ME!!!!!!!), and is incapable of expressing pleasure in the happiness of others (wait—this is totally Lilly).
There is a higher incidence of the syndrome in males (Okay, not me. Or Lilly).
Frequently, sufferers of Asperger’s syndrome are socially inept (ME) . When tested, however, many score in the above-average intelligence range (okay, not me—but Lilly, definitely) and will often excel in fields like science, computer programming, and music (Oh, my God! Michael! No! Not Michael! Anyone but Michael!) .
Symptoms may include: