Mad Brad: The King…maybe?

My 18th birthday fell on my senior homecoming game and there wasn’t much I asked for. All I wanted was booze, a beautiful date, and the pleasure of buying my first legal pack of cigarettes.

Not the most sterling list of goals, but at the time I believed I could achieve.

However, my simple petition turned into a perfect ball of homecoming chaos when I theoretically ended up being the king.

I attended an all boys’ school, so we had to resort to alternative methods to get our HC queens. We had the pleasure of pooling our candidates from our three sister schools which left us with plenty of options.

I had no girlfriend at the time, so I asked a good friend of mine named Sara. Sara was always cool to hang out with, and on top of that she was gorgeous.

But, I wouldn’t realize the fullness of her beauty until I found out that fellow students had voted her into the court. She was chosen as one of six girls by the upperclassmen, and I had no idea what I was getting into.

The intensity only heightened when I discovered that I would have to walk with her during the homecoming pep rally, which wouldn’t have been a big deal if I wasn’t the pep rally MC.

In the middle of inspiring my peers and faculty, I had to hand the mice to my co-MC, and take a gallant stroll with my date. It was a unique conflict of interest.

I was hardly ever nervous to address the student body on matters of school spirit, but to parade with a beautiful woman made me uneasy.

People gave me kudos like I had done something amazing, when I simply didn’t want to be a single loser at homecoming.

Luckily, Sara’s election to the court shocked her as well, so we were in agreement during the walk of fame.

It was customary during my senior year to pre-game with cheap unsavory liquids for the sake of fueling school spirit and testosterone, but I was asked by Sara to take it easy.

I would have to meet her parents at the game, and it would be horrendous impression to be a sloppy somebody while she was a dazzling damsel.

However, the euphoria of legal cancer sticks and brotherhood ran away with me, and wallowed in anxiety and aromatic burps of alcoholism.

Thankfully, I’ve always possessed a good command of my faculties in social interactions, and I pulled the parental encounter off with a breeze.

Sara was surprised when I told her that I was sloshed and could hardly stand.

But I was more surprised when they called her name as the victor during halftime.

I remember jumping around a lot and shaking hands with friends, but in the midst of the calamity came a moment of pensive clarity.

We didn’t take votes for HC king, so there was no declared victor. There was only the beautiful Queen Sara, and her inebriated, yet well mannered, date.

Taking this into consideration, I concluded that I was 2004’s silent homecoming king.

The authenticity of my crown can and should be questioned.

My conclusion is logical, but then again, so is communism.

Whether you see me as the king or not is nil either way. In my heart I know that I had at least one homecoming experience worth mentioning.

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