I don’t know which one of them yelled out to me, but they looked noble, sitting out there with the moonlight illuminating all the history on their wrinkled faces.
I smiled and waved at them, because I was young and had my whole life in front of me.
Two of them waved back, but the other one just stared at me.
It occurred to me that all they saw was a vision in yellow picking daisies from underneath the feet of the former massah. They probably hadn’t recognized me as the ugly and sad Monkey Night. And that made me smile as I walked away.
. . .
By far my favorite and most beloved scene in Sixteen Candles is when Molly Ringwald comes out of the church, and a couple of cars pull away to reveal dreamy Jake Ryan, standing in front of his red Porsche. I still remember how I felt the first time I watched that scene, watched Molly as she looked over her shoulder to make sure he wasn’t there for somebody else.
As I walked up the dirt road toward the front of Farrell Manor, I imagined that scene with James and me in the lead roles. I rehearsed what I would say when James looked up and saw me for who I really was: the woman of his dreams.
I decided that I would start off with “Hello” because no one in our school ever said “Hello,” just “Hey” and “Hi” and “What up, fool?” “Hello” would set me apart from all the other girls, just like him embodying everything that was good in the world set him apart from all the other guys.
I could see Farrell Manor in the distance now. I skirted a mud puddle left over from the spring rains earlier in the week. Then I looked back to the house, where a few people who I couldn’t really see from so far away were milling around on the large front porch.
A car honked behind me and I got out of the way. As it drove past me, I saw it was Corey in his white Rabbit. He stared at me through the open window as he drove past, a confused look on his face.
I guess James hadn’t told him that he had invited me. I wasn’t surprised—I knew from all the eighties movies that men never talk to each other about stuff like girls.
By the time he pulled up to the front of the house and got out, I was close enough to see him point at me when Veronica and Tammy came out to greet him. I slowed a little.
Veronica and Tammy were both wearing bell-bottoms, which I knew from watching television had made a comeback, but I hadn’t expected to see denim at this party. Then I noticed that Corey was also wearing jeans.
I looked down at the invitation. Maybe I had gotten the time wrong. Maybe they were still doing setup, and they hadn’t changed into their party clothes yet.
But when I looked up from the invitation, I saw a lot of people on the porch. And they were all wearing jeans. And they were all staring and pointing at me.
That’s when I realized a few things:
1. Sixteen Candles was about a pretty, rich white girl growing up in the suburbs of Chicago. And
2. I was an ugly, poor, black heifer from Mississippi who all the kids called Monkey Night. And
3. Of course, the invitation had been a trick.
I ran. I ran as fast as the skirt of that stupid dress would let me. Then I hiked up the skirt, so that I could run even faster. But Cora’s shoes weren’t really designed for running. The heel broke and I fell straight into the mud puddle that I had skirted just moments ago.
The laughter had gotten so loud back at Farrell Manor that I could still hear it, even though I was halfway up the road.
“Come back, Monkey Night!” I heard some boy yell behind me. “You look so nice in your pretty dress!”
I pushed myself up out of the mud, kicked off the shoes, and started running again.
. . .
My feet were bleeding by the time I got home. And my heart was so tired.
I went to the mirror and saw that I was myself again—but now I was wearing a muddy dress and makeup that was ten times too bright for me. Also, my mascara had run down my face, because of all the crying and running.