It is easy to point out the best day of your life when you are young. Here is the story of one.
I was in sixth grade and I had just been invited to a party with girls. Not only a party with girls, a lot of girls. In fact, I was one of only two boys invited.
It was the holy grail of parties. Somehow I had been invited.
And the girl I had a crush on was going to be there.
“Mom,” I asked, “There is this party on Friday I was invited to.”
“Yeah?” she said.
“It is, um, at a girl’s house.”
“And, it’ll just be mostly girls but I was invited and I was just wondering if that is okay and maybe I could get a ride and I can call you when it is over and I–”
“Yes, that is fine.”
“Yep, just let me know.”
These were the days where your level of happiness was defined by how much interaction you had with the girl you liked. These were the days where ‘dates’ were an abstract concept. These were the days where you weren’t sure what you would do if the girl you liked liked you back.
She was going to be there.
A few days before the party, boy number two dropped out. He couldn’t go. I would be the only boy at the party. The only boy.
And she was going to be there!
I got dropped off and I was painfully nervous. I was standing outside a girl’s house. There were girls inside. Lots of girls. I rang the doorbell.
A woman answered the door, the mother. She was happy to see me. She showed me the stairs to the basement and I went down. As rumored, the girls were there.
There was a lot of talking and eating of snacks. It wasn’t all that different from the parties I normally went to with boys, except I had no idea what the girls were talking about. It was awesome.
Then they put in the movie. It was a scary movie. Pet Cemetery. The lights were turned off and we were all crammed together on a couch.
It was awesome.
We all watched as the slightly disturbing images of Stephen King’s novel were brought to life before us. I hardly paid any attention.
A particularly scary moment occurred. The girls were all holding each other’s hands. The girl I liked stuck her hand out.
“I need a hand!” she said.
I looked around, not wanting to make any assumptions. There were no free girl hands.
“Mine are the only ones left…”
“That’s okay!” she said.
It was okay. It was okay.
I reached out and put my hand in hers. She squeezed it. She was squeezing my hand. I squeezed back. We were holding hands.
We were holding hands.
There are times in your life that are moments. This was a moment and I knew it. I was holding the hand of the girl I liked and she was holding mine back. The movie was scary, but all I felt was elation. Euphoria.
Eventually, the scary part ended and girls started to let go of each other’s hands. We let our hands fall apart as well. I felt a sense of peace sweep over me. I had just held the hand of the girl I liked. And it was good.
The night continued uneventfully enough after that. There were some more games, some more talking, and eventually my mom picked me up. I said bye to everyone and left.
“Did you have a good time?” my mom asked.
How could I possibly answer that question? How could I explain that the things I had imagined had come true? How could I describe my sense of wholeness? How could I say that I just had the greatest night of my life?
“Yeah,” I said, “I did.”