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Just a Girl Standing in Front of a Boy
In That Haze — No4 (Micro)
You might think it crazy that I, a seventeen-year-old girl, worshiped at the altar of eighties movies. John Hughes had become a particular fascination as of late, and I almost wished I could be Molly Ringwald for just one fleeting day. Who wouldn’t want to be the star of an iconic string of teen films that defined a generation?
But maybe I was too close to the subject matter. It was bad enough that I thought Ducky should have gotten the girl in Pretty in Pink. That opinion probably would have gotten me cancelled in today’s world.
My best friend Lucas didn’t think much of my taste in movies. He would nod along to my commentary, but he wouldn’t say a word. Love was a tough subject for him. It was bad enough he had a string of heartbreaks behind him — things he wouldn’t talk about unless he took a hit from his brother’s stash of weed — but at least I was able to make him laugh when it counted.
Lucas and I may have mixed like oil and water at times, but we understood each other. That was saying something about us. It was better than waiting for the day I could be indoctrinated into the loving and welcoming world of dating apps — oh, joy, from the way my mother’s eyes glazed over whenever she “matched” with a new Mr. Right.
