Pancakes with the Prom Queen

I remember it all very well looking back, it was the summer I turned 18. Oh wait, that's not how it happened, that's a Reba McEntire song. Sorry. This happened about 2 weeks ago. I was 31, in Dallas and in shock.

She picked me up from my Aunt's house while I was visiting my family in Dallas, TX. She asked for directions, hopped in her pick up truck, and flew down the interstate. She arrived, honked, got out of her 4x4 truck and walked towards the door. I hadn't seen her since 1992. Had I changed? Had she changed? Would we like each other? Did I floss?

She rang my Aunt's door bell. My heart raced as I reached for the door to let her in. There she was, the Prom Queen. Cenia was our high school Prom Queen, top cheerleader, drama actress, track runner, swimmer, and our tri-state 3 legged-race champion. She did it all. I, on the other hand, was the chubby Mexican kid who would get picked on and was labeled "Fatnando", and this was by my own family.

I found Cenia through myspace a few months ago and I touched base with her and we've been chatting ever since. She told me that she and a few friends were going to move to New York in 2007 and she'd really like for us to get together and hang out. You might think to yourself, "What’s the problem?" Well, the problem is, she and I never spoke in high school. I just "knew" of her. Like I know of Madonna, Cher , and the Tooth Fairy (notice the heavy gay theme present).

She is one year older, so when I was entering high school, she was already a Jr. I remember joining the drama class and having to help out in a production of Sleeping Beauty where, yes, you guessed it, she played the Mexican Sleeping Beauty. All I remember is her tiny frame in a pink fluffy ball gown, sparking white teeth, long curly locks, and fabulous eye lashes as she pranced through the make-shift forest made of construction paper, twigs, and Jeremy Torres' underpants. (That's another story)

I open the door to my Aunt's House, all I see is sparkling white teeth, long straight locks (thank God for hot irons), and fabulous eyelashes. She hadn't changed a bit! I go over to her and give her a hug. There was no awkward moment at all. I grab my luggage, I said good-bye to my Aunt and I took off with Cenia in her Texas Pick-up truck.

Cenia: I haven't eaten so we're stopping to get some food. Do you mind?
Nando: (thinking to myself) I'm in the freak'n Prom Queen's truck!
Cenia: Is there anything in particular you'd like to eat? This isn't New York, so we can't stop in Soho and pick up a tasty treat at Balthazar's.
Nando: (thinking to myself) I'm touching the Prom Queen's hair brush!
Cenia: Listen, we're going to meet my friends tonight and we are going out to a few bars.
Do you remember Mark? He's also moving to New York with me and my other friend Denise.
Nando: (thinking to myself) Did she just say Mark?
Cenia: You're really quiet......are you okay? Is my driving scaring you?

Now, had I not experienced cab drivers in New York, her driving might have scared me—she hit 2 birds, a squirrel, and a rather large cat on our way to her house. But this fear was nothing compared to seeing Mark again after all these years. He was my “secret” Jr. High School Crush that endured throughout high school. I admired his long, tall, physique, his short chestnut brown hair, the way he’d cuff up his pants to expose the sexiest ankles I’ve ever seen. He was the only boy who could wear a Simpson's t-shirt, 501 Levi's, and penny loafer's (with 2 shinny pennies inside) and look sexy.

We stopped for a bite to eat, went back to her place and got dressed for the evening. The pressure was on—Mark called twice asking if we were on our way since he was already at the bar waiting. Then it happened, my heart stopped…my life was over. I forgot my hot iron!

I can’t show up to meet Mark after 14 years with the same poodle hair style I used to wear. Cenia let me borrow her hot iron—this one was a fancy expensive hot iron. Unfamiliar with this expensive fancy iron, (I use a Wal-Mart green-light special hot iron) I ended up over-processing my hair. Now I look like a porcupine. I swear to God, every time I get nervous, my hair comes out extra high and poufy, making me look like Patsy Cline. And sure enough, tonight was no different. Cenia walks into the bathroom, takes a look, wrinkles her forehead and says, “Oh, I like!” I immediately thought, “Note to self, the prom queen lies."

Cenia: Did I mention that Mark is gay?
Nando: (Frozen in time) No?

We left her apartment and picked up Denise. Denise is a beautiful young woman, long blond hair, petite in size, and a wicked sense of humor—work’s for me. We head to the bar. This is no ordinary bar, this bar has class, this bar has style, and this bar is named, WOODY’S and it’s gay.

Inside, the music is pumping and Madonna’s confession tour is displayed all over the television monitors. Cenia asks the bar tender for Mark and he points towards the stair case. We all go up and there he is, sitting at the bar having a drink. I can’t look directly at him, so I stare at the monitors and notice Madonna doing something perverted with the microphone—so much for motherhood changing her.

Denise, Cenia, and Mark exchange hugs. Cenia grabs my arm and pushes me over to Mark who greets me with his smooth sexy smile and big brown eyes. He hasn’t changed. As they say in Texas, “he’s a tall glass of water,” His nice olive skin, his puppy brown eyes, his juicy red lips were amazing. I never noticed his lips before—I was too caught up in his ankles, damn!

Mark: Nando, you’re taller now.
Nando: (Not knowing what to say and about to throw up) It’s the hair.
Mark: Oh. Really?

What the hell? I might as well quoted Baby in Dirty Dancing and said, “I carried a watermelon!”

We found a table and Denise buys the first round of drinks. They all have beer and I have a vodka tonic. Who says I don’t have class? Eat your heart out James Bond! A few drinks later Cenia is pressuring a stranger to take our photo. We all squeeze together (I’m next to Mark) and the flash goes off. I look at the photo. You clearly can see that I’m the outsider. The three of them are all touching shoulders and I’m off to the side, standing alone as if I had just eaten a bowl of cat guts and had the breath to match.

Nando: Oh c’mon on guys, look, I’m totally off to the side. Mark, you can at least bridge the gap, you can fit a double wide mobile home in between us.

We take another photo and this time we all get closer. I’m still next to Mark and the stranger who was coerced into taking another photo tells Mark and me to get even closer. Before you know it, I’m over come with the heat throbbing through Mark’s hot flesh as our cheeks touch one another in a sweltering passion that’s been waiting to erupt for decades.

Stranger taking photo: I need the guys to get closer!

Holding the camera, he yells at us again.

Stranger taking photo: Closer!

My left cheek is touching his right cheek, what does he want, my hand on Mark’s masculine yet tender knee? That works!

As I place my hand on Mark’s knee, I felt the lava of a thousand volcanoes pulsating inside me as I erupt with pleasures unknown to mankind. The camera’s flash goes but the flashes I experience won’t go away. I offer to buy everyone a round of shots.

Mark accompanies me to the bar and before you know it, it becomes a ritual, I am off at the bar buying everyone shots. My goal? To get a certain some one tipsy and it wasn’t the Prom Queen. I have to admit that up until recently, I thought I knew how to flirt with men. I was wrong. My friend named “Lucky” pointed out that I tend to flirt like a 3rd grade school girl.
“You make fun of the guy, hide his pencil, and kick him when he’s not looking. And frankly, it’s not attractive.”

I kept this in mind as I kept Mark in my sight. I must come across as international, sophisticated and mysterious. No one has to know that I’m still a geek and still obsess over Mark.

Mark pulls out something from his pocket.

Mark: Look what I have; a map of the New York City Subway system. This baby will come in handy once we move over there. You guys can borrow it if you like, it even pops ups.
Cenia and Denise: That’s great!

Right before my eyes was Manhattan with a tiny Empire State Building popping up along with lady Liberty. I snatched the map away from him.

Nando: You aren’t honestly planning on using that in the city are you?
Mark: (A bit confused) Yeah, why not?
Nando:First of all, expect to be yelled at, shot, or mugged while figuring out which way the Lincoln Tunnel is with that pop up map.

The New York Nando came out thanks to the 4 vodka tonics and 5 shots of courage.

Mark: Well, if I fold it out just a little, no one will notice.

They all laughed, made grunting noises and “high-fived” one another.

New York Nando came out again.

Nando: Uhm, you guys don’t plan on “high-fiving” in New York right?

Before damaging my character anymore, a familiar song began to play and we all started dancing by the side of the table. As Justin Timberlake was getting into the second chorus, Mark came up to me. Not only were we “brining sexy back”, we brought it to the side and to the front.

I felt his hot tender body gyrating against mine and visions of sweet passionate romance started to blossom. Mark’s mouth got closer to my lips and I felt faint. What do I do? What do I say? Mark’s juicy pink lips got closer to mine.

Mark: Nando.
Nando: Yes, Mark.

He was so close, I felt his heart thumping.

Mark: I’m in love with a stripper.
Nando: (Thinking to myself) but I don’t strip sweetie
Mark: His name is Roman and he strips at this bar called “the zipper.” Lets all go and watch him strip!
Nando: Uhm….ok.

We left WOODY’S and drove across town to “The Zipper.” There was a crowd gathered around a pedestal—and there was the “Roman” God—stripping in his white spandex bikini.

Cenia ran up to him and tipped him. I shot him an evil glare and caught a glimpse of his six pack abs, chiseled features, and thighs that could crush walnuts. I didn’t see what Mark sees in him.

I noticed Mark up at the bar and he ordered a vodka tonic for me. I walked up next to him and he handed me the drink. He smiled and brought his lips close to mine. I closed my eyes. I made a decision; I would tell him about my crush and release all inhibitions. I’d tell him how I lusted over him during band practice as he released the spit valve on his trombone. How I’d watched him march in double time to the band playing the theme song to Batman. How I would sometimes walk over to his trombone slot in the band hall and touch his case “by accident.”

I took a quick sip of courage and all of a sudden I felt a tap. I turned around. It was the Prom Queen.

Cenia: Nando, I have to throw up and I need you to go outside and hold my hair.
Nando: What? Now?!

We are outside “The Zipper” and Cenia is dry heaving on the steps of the entrance. I’m holding her hair to make sure she doesn’t vomit all over it and I get a tingly feeling. What is it? Do I feel Mark’s vibe from inside “The Zipper?” Is this the feeling of a crush gone bad? No, it was the feeling of a full bladder—I had to pee.

Nando: (Holding Cenia’s hair) I have to pee.
Cenia: Don’t leave me alone, something could happen, haven’t you seen 20/20?
Nando: But I really have to go.
Cenia: Can’t you just go right there? No one will see you behind that car.

I found myself urinating in Dallas, Texas, outside in the open air behind a black Nissan. I‘m facing the street and people driving by are waving at me. This is a new low. Cenia explained that she needs food to calm her stomach and apologized for ruining the evening.

Cenia: I’m so sorry Nando. This never happens to me. I can hold my liquor. And I’m sorry you never got the chance to tell Mark that you’re in LOVE with him.
Nando: What? (Nervously giggling) What are you talking about?
Cenia: Nando, we all could tell by how you kept staring at his ankles.
Nando: I don’t know what you are talking about.
Cenia: Then why are you turning red and blushing? Listen, it is what is it. But now, I need some food and we need a taxi.

Half a second later, we heard tires screeching, a cab pulls up and the driver asks, “Mam, do you need a taxi?” We both look at each other and begin to laugh. This is so “Sex and the City,” Cenia states. And I think; this would NEVER happen in the city. Not even if you were flagging a cab down with your right arm because your left arm had just been shot off and it’s now lying on the street beside you. New York taxi drivers have a no bleeding in the cab rule.

The cab drops us off at the Brazilian Café where we both order pumpkin pancakes drowning in rich maple syrup. Pancakes with the Prom Queen, does it get any better than this? At least I won’t have to face Mark for another 6-7 months when they all move to New York.

Cenia: By the way, did I mention that we’re all visiting New York for New Years? I hope you know that you are spending it with me, Denise, and Mark.

The moral of the story:
a. Be ware of the ankle stare, people are watching.
b. Jr. High School crushes are for the birds.
c. Sexy Back is my new favorite song.