Dr. Ohhh

by Ana Sparks

  It was hardly surprisingly when I caught Claude’s lanky still shaggy-haired form making his way to me. However, he didn’t quite make it. He was intercepted by a broader-shouldered form, one wearing a crisp, expensive suit and an easy smile.

  “May I have this dance?” Clark asked me, holding out his hand while I gaped at him. His face fell. “You’re still mad aren’t you?”

  I glanced to the empty dance floor, the disco ball rotating sadly, and the spotlight flickering on no one. “There’s no one dancing.”

  Clark followed my gaze, and then shrugged. His hand still stuck out, he said “Looks like we’ll have to start it.”

  I nodded, but didn’t move. Really, Clark wasn’t asking me just for a dance. He was asking me to forgive him, for another chance— another chance for him to let me down. Hadn’t I learned enough?

  “Hey, Kristin?” Clark asked.

  “Yeah?”

  “If you want to reject me, then reject me, but my arm is getting tired and I look pretty ridiculous.”

  I glanced around to find many of the gym’s occupants looking our way. Giggling, I rose and took his hand.

  “Okay, let’s dance.”

  Clark led me to the middle of the dance floor, under the revolving disco ball and multicolored flickering lights. And he put both hands on my waist and I put my hands around his neck and the beat took over from there. It swayed us in a circle, tapped our feet in time, even our smiles were rhythmic.

  Clark smelled really good, a musky scent I vaguely remembered, although I had never actively noticed it before. As we swayed there together, glancing in each other’s eyes, all I felt for this man was jumbled about—attraction, affection, resentment, love. Yes, as one song gave way into the next, as he gazed at me with adoring eyes, as his words back in the limo replayed in my head, I knew. There was no denying it anymore. I loved him.

  At some point, I wrested my gaze from his to see that the dance floor was now full of rotating couples. Clark and I hadn’t only started the dance floor, we had made it.

  Clark turned my head to face his. “What are you thinking?”

  I gazed into his eyes, his insistent, eager, caring brown eyes and felt the words bubbling up my throat. The I love you that would ruin everything, that would throw me into pain once more, that couldn’t be said.

  “I think I need a break,” I said, extricating myself from his embrace and walking off the dance floor. As I made my way back to my chair, I noticed a table with sheets of paper on it.

  “What’s this for?” I asked the woman behind the desk.

  “The prom king and queen!” she trilled and I felt my heart drop.

  Not this again.

  As I turned away, Clark joined me.

  “Kristin, what’s the matter?”

  I looked up at him and shook my head.

  “They’re voting for the prom kind and queen. They’re doing it again.”

  Clark shot me a puzzled look.

  “And that’s a bad thing?”

  Tears pricked my eyes, but I would not let them escape. I turned away, addressed my frustration to my shaking hands.

  “Are you kidding me? You think that I want to be reminded, that I want everyone to be reminded of my humiliation?”

  Silence, then Clark took my arm.

  “Damn, Kristin, I’m sorry.”

  I paused there, feeling myself give in to his grasp, his sympathy, his affection. But then my gaze caught a girl at the edge of the gym, a girl on a wobbly classroom chair, eating some brownies to avoid the pain, a girl who looked like I had that night.

  I wrenched my arm away. “I’m sorry, I can’t do this.”

  As I walked away, he followed me. “Kristin, please, just—”

  “No, Clark, I’m sorry. It’s just been too much. I can’t trust you anymore. Please leave me alone or I’m going to have to leave.”

  As I walked away to the chairs in the corner, the most ridiculous thing was that some part of me wished that he had followed me.

  It didn’t matter now, though. I was back at my old seat; in my haste I had even left a mini brownie on my plate. As I ate, the music died down and those on the dance floor dispersed. A minute or so later, our old principal, Mr. Hartery, hobbled to the stage.

  Into the microphone, his wobbly voice said, “Okay folks, I hope you’re enjoying the reunion so far. I know I sure am. Now, our organizers thought it would be a nice idea for everyone to vote for the prom king and queen, just for old time’s sake. But first, a word from our organizer and sponsor, without whom none of this would have been possible. Let’s hear it for Grass Valley’s own Clark Denton!”

  As the gym erupted in applause, I gaped at the far-off suited figure that strode proudly to the stage and up to the microphone. Under the spotlight, he was so handsome that it almost hurt to look at him.

  “Thank you, everyone,” he said, “I never made it to prom, so for me, I have to admit the whole prom king and queen thing was pretty selfish. Even my own high school graduation—I never made it to that either. I guess I wanted to do this to make up for everything I missed—or at least try to. So, you shouldn’t really be clapping for me. You should be clapping for yourselves, that you weren’t stupid enough to miss out the things that mattered, so that you were years later forced to have a high school reunion to have them.”

  There was a smattering of laughter, and then he continued, “In all seriousness, the other reason I organized this reunion was community. These days, no matter where you are, we’re getting busier and more loaded down than ever, with less time for our friends and family and just having some good old-fashioned fun. So, I thought this would be a nice way to combat that—not just for me, but for everyone.”

  As more applause rumbled through the room, Clark paused, and then scanned the crowd. His eyes seemed to stop on me, but I was probably imagining it; he was probably searching out his next conquest.

  “The main reason I held this reunion,” he was saying, “I will reveal in a few minutes. But first,” he held up a silver envelope, “let’s give it up for the prom king and queen nominees. Everyone whose name is called, please come to the stage.”

  After the applause had died down, Clark began reading off names: “We have Veronica Blair and Gary Vanderchuck.”

  I had to stifle a laugh as the two most conceited people in the room strode up to the stage, smiling and waving to nobody. Maybe Veronica had had something with Gary and that explained some of her resentment of me back then.

  “We have Lisa Connery and Devin Davedos.” More applause, as a blonde girl from my grade 11 science class strode to the stage with a chubby man I didn’t recognize.

  “Then we have Stella McCarr and Paul Prescott.” Another couple I remembered from high school, looking as in love as always, glided up to the stage. With their rosy happy faces and clasped hands, there was no doubt who would be the winners tonight.

  But Clark wasn’t quite done yet; he was reading off the last nominated couple: “And then we have Kristin Blair and,” he chuckled, “me.”

  A stunned silence followed his words, and then the gym burst into murmurs and broken applause. I was frozen to my seat, wishing I could sink into it or at least hide under it. But there was no escaping the roving spotlight, or Clark’s own insistent voice in the microphone:

  “Now, we’re just waiting on Kristin Blair. Kristin, wherever you are…” He sounded worried and he should be—I was wavering between just striding out of the gym and into the night air, away from the school, away from everything.

  But instead, my legs were carrying me towards the stage. Before I knew it, I was striding up the steps and Clark was grasping my hand.

  Out of the corner of my mouth, not looking at him, I whispered, “You planned this?”

  “How else was I supposed to get you to see me?” his whisper came back.

  “And now you’ve even rigged the votes too, I presume?”

  “Hey,” Clark turned to face me, “Do you really have such low e
xpectations of me? I may have organized this whole thing, but I let people vote how they wanted to. Stella and Paul will probably win.”

  “Since our organizer turned out to be one of the nominees,” Mr. Hartery said, chuckling, “I will read out the winners.”

  Taking the silver envelope from Clark, he opened it, his little blue eyes lighting up, and announced, “And the winners, your prom king and queen, are…Clark Denton and Kristin Blair!”

  Another shocked silence, then an eruption of applause, and a thunderous roar filling the gym, reverberating through my head. It was a good thing Clark took my hand and led me to the microphone, because I would have been rooted to the spot with shock.

  “Thanks everyone for this,” Clark was saying, “It really means a lot to Kristin—and especially to me.”

  He lifted our clasped hands, and then it was my turn to speak. The only problem was that I was utterly speechless. Sweat was running down my spine, something between a hysterical laugh and a whoop of joy was bubbling in my chest and I was afraid which would come out.

  “Can I say something too?” Clark was saying. “It’s about Kristin and I. It’s meant for her but the rest of you are going to have to come along for the ride.”

  Clark took the microphone in his hand and turned to me.

  “Kristin, ten years ago, I was the reason that your prom night was ruined, and the reason you never got to be crowned prom queen. And you really, truly should have been. You should have been crowned prom queen because you were a good person—you brought everyone around you up. That was one of the things I always loved most about you—your kind and giving heart; one that never stopped seeing the best in people. I used to be one of those people, until I failed you worse than I could have feared failing anyone.”

  This time I couldn’t stop the tears from spilling down my cheeks, but Clark just kept talking.

  “That night, I failed you in a way that was unforgivable; and so, I don’t blame you for not forgiving me. What followed for both of us was in part due to that very mistake of mine, you lived your life under the shadow of it, while I lived my life in the cycle of it—perpetuating the mistake time and again, choosing work over my family, my friends, my life more and more as time went on.

  So now I’m here, tonight, to say: fuck it. Fuck work and fuck anything that gets in the way of you and I being together, Kristin. And I know this is ridiculous and I really shouldn’t be saying it on a stage where over a hundred people can witness me crash and burn, but here it is: I love you, Kristin Blair. I love you with your freckled nose and your kind blue eyes and the kindest heart I know. I love your forgiving heart and open mind and, I guess what I’m trying to say is, that if you don’t give me one last chance to make it up to you, to be there for you in all the ways I should’ve been, then I don’t know what I’ll do with myself. Because I love you. Call me a fool and show me all the mistakes I’ve made—and I’ve made a lot—but I love you. I love you with all my heart and soul, with everything that I am and everything that I’m going to be. I love you.”

  This stunned silence stretched out, and I waited with the crowd, my heart so full it could burst, my eyes streaming with the tears I failed to hold back. Suddenly, it occurred to me just what everyone was waiting for—me. Clark, tears in his eyes, his hand with the microphone outstretched to my lips, the crowd with their heads angled up towards me, they were all waiting. Waiting for my answer.

  I took the microphone, breathed in and out.

  “I…” I started, just as Clark’s phone rang. He froze, his face falling.

  Our eyes met. Together, we grabbed the black little thing and, in one great toss, threw it as far as it would go. It landed on the floor with a sickening crunch. As we laughed, I lifted the microphone to my lips.

  “I say yes.”

  Now the crowd was roaring its approval once more and Clark took my face in his hands and kissed me. Everything went silent, and all there was were those soft, loving lips pressing to mine. And then it was over and the crowd was still clapping and Clark was tugging me away, but I wasn’t finished yet. No, now, I finally had something to say. I turned to Clark and began to speak.

  “It’s funny how your life can change in a split second. Clark, my darling, Clark. I hated you for a very long time. The last time I was wearing this dress, I had a very different prom experience; in fact, that night was the worst night of my life. I was humiliated, betrayed, hurt beyond all reason. And while it was certainly unfair, it was equally unfair of me to accuse you of ruining my life.

  “After that night, instead of picking myself up and moving on, I let that humiliation define me, I let it grow into a dark cloud that always followed me, blocking out the sun of possibility. I let it be the reason for all my failures, whether in love or in my business. I let history repeat itself time and again, all because I refused to learn the lesson. But these past few months, it’s all become clear to me, thanks to you. You showed me what a second chance looks like, not just for forgiving others, but for believing in myself. You brought back the past with all its snarling implications, shoved the mirror in my face—and you want to know what I saw?”

  Silence. I smiled.

  “I saw a frightened little girl. A little girl who was so determined to avoid getting hurt that she assumed the worst of people and life before she’d given either of them a real chance. She ensured herself failure, so she wouldn’t have to deal with the disappointment of missing success. She put all her power in an event that had happened over ten years ago, instead of keeping the power where it had always been—in her two hands.

  “What I’m saying is that we can’t control the tragedies that befall us, but we can always control what we do about them. And you taught me that, Clark. You with your truth and your forcing me to make hard choices.”

  I bit my lip and paused.

  “You forced me to grow as a person, to learn what true forgiveness is—and true bravery. Because this, all of this, has been nothing short of terrifying. The whirlwind dates and your 100-mile-an-hour courtship and just…you. You’ve taught me about conquering my fears and opening myself up to be hurt again. Because that’s what’s this has all been about, really. Opening myself up to be hurt again by you, time and again—forgiving you and believing you and being brave, despite everything in me shrinking back from these overpowering feelings, this love.

  “I guess what I’m trying to say is how my love for you scares me and exalts me in equal measure. How hours disappear into breathless seconds with you. How my whole body thrills at even the thought of you. How every single day I feel as though I can’t love you more, and every single day I’m proven wrong. And I just want you to know, here and now, that you are far greater than you know. Not just in terms of how sexy and charming you are—which, let’s face it, you are fully aware of. It’s more than that. It’s your kind heart, and your funny irreverence. It’s the way you squeeze my hand, the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice. So, I guess what I’m ranting on about, is that it’s you, Clark Denton. You’re the one for me.”

  Now the applause was more like an earthquake, one which Clark joined in. He clapped exuberantly, while his face looked happier than I’d ever seen it. Next thing I knew, Mr. Hartery was putting the crowns on our heads and a familiar song was coming on.

  “Now, for the first dance,” Clark said and that’s when I realized it. This song had been playing when my name was announced last time, when I was humiliated.

  And, as Clark took my hand and led me to the once-again empty dance floor, I understood. History wasn’t repeating itself, no, it was righting itself. With his hands on my waist and my arms around his neck, with our foreheads pressed together, everything was happening as it should have ten years ago. I closed my eyes and Clark kissed me again.

  I opened my eyes as Clark whispered, “What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that everything—absolutely everything—is perfect.”

  Chapter Eighteen

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  She said “yes.”

  As I gazed into the eyes of the beautiful woman in my arms, the realization kept repeating in my head. She said yes—and my life was never going to be the same again.

  Yes, the longer we twirled on the dance floor, the more certain I was becoming. This was the start of the rest of my life.

  She looked so stunning in that dress that I wanted to take her face in my hands and kiss her. I wanted to kiss and kiss her and let the kisses lead me where they would. As I smiled at her and she smiled back, it took everything in me to resist this urge.

  It only grew when we dashed into the photo booth and took photos with every prop they had, when we raided the food stand for handfuls of mini brownies. So, as we sat side by side, my arm slung around her, I did it. I kissed her.

  I kissed her and everything went quiet—the music, all the murmurings of our classmates, even the whirr of the overhead fan. It went quiet and, drawing back, in her ear I whispered, “Want to get out of here?”

  Still mid-chew, Kristin grinned and declared, “I wanted to leave ten minutes ago.”

  I grabbed her hand and we left, speed walking out of the school, smiling at everybody and nobody in particular. The whole ride back to my place, we could barely keep our hands to ourselves, but by the time we pulled up to my house, we were just getting started.

  As the car rolled to a stop, Kristin pressed herself to me.

  “I can’t wait,” she said breathlessly. “Let’s do it now, here.”

  The way her lips parted as she said it, her half-lidded eyes; there was no resisting her. When the driver opened the door, I leaned over to hand him a stack of $20 bills.

  “If you would be so kind as to allow us another hour or so.”

  The man’s aquiline face betrayed no emotion, he only gave a curt nod and then closed the door again. The next second I was on her, kissing the lips I loved so well, my hands tracing the body I had missed so much. Her dress slipped down easily, revealing a rhinestone-covered bra underneath. Now, Kristin was kissing my neck, nibbling and sucking and goddamn, I was ready to take her right then.