It's all coming back to you now, isn't it? Samantha with her individual style that is just left of center but not weird either. She isn't a fashion plate. She isn't a cheerleader. She knows she will never be Prom Queen or Miss Popularity. Unlike Samantha, my high school style wasn't just left of center. It wasn't right of center either. I had no style. Like Samantha, I knew I would never be Prom Queen or Miss Popularity. The likelihood of either of us capturing the heart of the Captain of the Football team was near impossible. We both pouted over this.
Like Samantha, I nursed a serious crush on Mr. Popularity, Captain of the Football team himself: Duane K. Like the actor--Michael Schoeffling--who played Jake Ryan, Duane had an uncanny resemblance to the real Jake Ryan. (I mean Michael Schoeffling.)
Like Samantha, I obsess over Duane like a "lovesick puppy" to quote Molly Ringwald's character. I think half the girls at my high school obsessed over Duane; he was that hunky. Just ask my friend Nicole.
I wished. Hoped. Daydreamed that Duane would declare his unwavering love and affection for me in the halls of South Carroll HS. Although I think he noticed my lovesick puppy ways, I think he was weirded out by it. One day in study hall, he spit gum into my hair.
That wasn't in the script.
That minor setback didn't deter my affection, though. After all, I was a lovesick puppy.
In the movie Sixteen Candles, Samantha endures a series of embarrassing antics but ultimately gets Jake. Although I endure a series of embarrassing antics, mostly perpetuated by my losery self, I don't get Duane in the end.
Once Duane graduated, I never saw him again. (I think he was a year ahead of me. Maybe two.) The last I heard he went off to college on a football scholarship.
Fast forward twenty years later, it's 4:50 AM and I can't sleep. I'm remembering my pathetic lovesick puppy ways and Duane and wondering whatever happened to that guy?
I gave into temptation and searched for him on Facebook. (I know, I know. I've reverted back to my lovesick puppy ways despite being happily married to Joseph for fourteen and half years. I'm pathetic.) I don't find Duane. I google him. The only thing I find is his name listed on a national football foundation. Well, duh. He was the captain of the football team. Beyond that, I've no clue what else he's accomplished.
A part of me doesn't want to know what he looks like now or whether he's building rockets for NASA or crunching numbers at a desk. I want the hunky recollection from high school, not some aged guy married with kids. (And I'm certain that he'd want me to keep my distance. They have anti-stalking laws now. And rightly so.)
Why am I embarrassing myself, sharing this? Because this little anecdote has the makings of a novel in it. A love story twenty years after high school.
I'm feeling inspired.
