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Back Dear Universe Save as PDF
Contents (64)
  1. Copyright
  2. Contents
  3. Prologue
  4. {OCTOBER}
  5. Days ’til prom: Eons
  6. 1
  7. SECOND HALF OF SENIOR YEAR {JANUARY}
  8. Days ’til prom: 103
  9. 2
  10. Days ’til prom: Still 103
  11. 3
  12. Days ’til prom: 100
  13. 4
  14. Days ’til prom: Still 100
  15. 5
  16. Days ’til prom: 89
  17. {FEBRUARY}
  18. Days ’til prom: 83
  19. 6
  20. Days ’til prom: Still 83
  21. 7
  22. Days ’til prom: 65
  23. Days ’til prom: 64
  24. 8
  25. Days ’til prom: 61
  26. Days ’til prom: 57
  27. 9
  28. {MARCH}
  29. Days ’til prom: 51
  30. 10
  31. Days ’til prom: Still 51
  32. 11
  33. Days ’til prom: 50
  34. 12
  35. Days ’til prom: 49
  36. Days ’til prom: 48
  37. 13
  38. Days ’til prom: Still 48
  39. 14
  40. Days ’til prom: Seems irrelevant now
  41. 15
  42. Days ’til graduation: 31
  43. 16
  44. Days ’til graduation: 30
  45. 17
  46. {APRIL}
  47. Days ’til graduation: 17
  48. 18
  49. Days ’til graduation: 11
  50. Days ’til graduation: 6
  51. 19
  52. Days ’til graduation: 5
  53. 20
  54. Days ’til graduation: Still 4
  55. 21
  56. Days ‘til graduation: Still 2
  57. 22
  58. Days ’til graduation: Still 2, but minus a few hours
  59. Epilogue
  60. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  61. PRAISE FOR
  62. Dear Universe
  63. PRAISE FOR
  64. Love & Other Carnivorous Plants

lezzzzdoit C

G wish it were tonight

one more week ;) C

9

{MARCH}

Days ’til prom: 51

WHY IS IT THAT WHEN YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO LOOK forward to, time passes even more slowly? In the days leading up to the day that I am probably going to finally do it, every single clock limps toward the end of the day and gets more crippled with every hour. It gets to the point where I start avoiding any and all time-telling devices because no matter what the numbers say, I’m always disappointed. When we did some more dress shopping after school the other day, Abigail said that in preparation for Friday night I should watch some stuff online and then do some practicing. Hilary said that was TMI, and then Abigail yelled at her for stigmatizing female masturbation when boys “like win a Pulitzer when they wax poetic on their dick sessions.” My theory on the whole thing is that practice makes perfect, and that’s all I’m going to say about that.

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“You’re awfully smiley,” my mom says when I come downstairs on Friday with a bag packed and new underwear on. “What’s so great about Senior Night?”

“It’s just one of those things. Dance team puts on a show, Student Council has a raffle with stuff you’d actually want, we get to make sundaes and take pictures and do karaoke and yeah. Plus, Gene asked me to prom,” I blurt out. Then I hear something. “Is that Elvis?” I look around for the source of the music and catch a glimpse of myself in the window. It’s true, I am awfully smiley. I just can’t help it.

“Dad, is that you?” I call through the sliding door. “Turn it up!”

My dad wheels in with his speaker, and I grin. It’s been so long since he’s played music after dinner.

“Cham got asked to prom!” my mom tells him in a voice second graders use to convey crushes to one another while furiously nose-picking.

“Oh?” my dad says, turning Elvis down.

“Gene painted his chest after his track meet and it spelled out PROM?”

“Romantic,” my dad says, with just as little eagerness to stay on this topic as I’m feeling. “But I doubt this guy is as smooth as I used to be. Have I ever shown you the go-my-man, Cham? Mom and I used to do it. Show her.”

My mom dances toward my dad, moving like a train, chugging her arms back and forth. He does the same thing with his arms, and then she kisses him loudly.

“Ew, you guys!” I say, but honestly I’d like to put this moment in a snow globe because a time is gonna come when I’m gonna need to hold something and remember.

As Elvis plays and my parents move around each other, there’s a wheelchair between them, and it is just a chair with wheels, with none of the other things attached.