And the Winner Was...

The movie, "Carrie" is playing on A&E right now, and for some inexplicable reason has donned the gossamer robes of Milady Muse for the Day...

When I first read the book, Carrie, and each time I see the movie, I'm always transported, to some extent, back to my own Junior High and High School days... I was every bit as nerdy and out of the loop as Carrie, but instead of telekinesis, my youthful "cross to bear" was one of enhanced intuitiveness and premature maturity. I spent the bulk of my Freshman and Sophomore years wondering what planet I was really from and how I'd managed to fall off the cosmic bus at such a foreign and seemingly hostile depot. The kids I went to school with worried about whether or not Mom and Dad would lend them the Cadillac to drive to school or doom them to taking the family station wagon, whether or not they'd make the grade during Senior High Fraternity/Sorority rushes, and who would say what about whom at the weekend mixer. I worried about getting to school and work on time, given that our family had no car and my primary mode of transportation was my own two feet - and working as many hours as possible in order to keep our utilities paid.

I must admit, I bought into the whole popularity "status" thing for awhile, and spent a significant amount of time secretly longing to be included as a member in good standing of the "in" crowd - or at least not the girl everyone else viewed as wholly out of sync with the normal scheme of things and a scrubs- or hand-me-down-attired Nerd of the Consummate Kind.

I'll never forget my merciful reprieve... my Epiphany of Epiphanies... the Eureka moment that freed me from a decaying orbit around Planet Popularity and gave me wings to forever soar above and beyond its gnarled, perverse grasp.

Near the end of every school year at my High School, the current class of Seniors-in-Waiting would hold student body elections and choose their Senior Class President, Vice-President, Secretary, and Treasurer for the coming year. The outcome of these "elections" was inevitably contingent upon who commanded the most financial resources, popularity, and influence-peddling skills, which is why I'd never even considered throwing my hat into the ring in during The Class of 70's Freshman, Sophomore, and Junior years.

And then, walking to work at Dr. Edward's office following a particularly deflating, Card-Carrying-Member-of-the-Nameless-Nerdy-Rabble, dog day afternoon at school, I had a scathingly brilliant idea.

So what if I couldn't swing buying fancy-schmancy novelty items urging classmates to vote for me? So what if having fliers printed up was a luxury in which I'd never dream of indulging at the expense of my Momma and siblings? So what if I didn't stand a rat's ass chance in Pittsburgh of actually winning a student body election?

What I did have was sufficient creative prowess to make my own damn posters. I also had an excellent command of communication skills, a long, abiding, heretofore unexpressed list of personal observations about all the things I believed the High School experience could be as opposed to what it actually was at our school... and 15 reserved minutes of gloriously unfettered podium time before a captive faculty and student body audience in which to air them.

I ran, boys and girls - I ran. At first, I'd planned to run for Secretary or perhaps V.P. Generally, the position of Senior Class President always went to someone who'd served in a lesser office in their Sophomore or Junior years. But then it occurred to me that I had about as much of a crack as an ice cube in hell at getting elected to any office anyway, so why not go for the brass ring?

My posters, I don't mind saying, were the best of the bunch. I didn't bother with fliers or novelty items, and my wallflower status emancipated me from the frenzy of cut-throat "political" B.S.-ing, back-stabbing, and butt-smooching to which my opponents devoted themselves in the ensuing three weeks. While they were blotting their brown lipstick....* heh, heh, heh * ... I was writing my speech.

Election Day finally came, with all its attendant hustle and bustle. Second Period was dedicated to a full student body Assembly, and the Auditorium was standing room only. Our speeches were delivered in order of ascending levels of Office, which meant that I and my two opponents running for Class President would be heard last. A draw of straws amongst the three of us relegated me to the position of "last of the last" to speak.

And speak I did. Not angrily... not resentfully... not negatively - but openly, quietly, and completely. I simply told 'em like it was.

At the end of the speech, I heard the words, "If you want to elect a dedicated Class President, vote for me. If you want to elect a monarch... don't. Thank you." come out of my mouth... followed by several agonizing seconds of dead silence. I remember looking out over a sea of faces, the vast majority of which appeared to be stunned into silence.

Then came a sprinkling of applause, followed by teachers and even a few students rising to their feet. As I walked away from the podium and back to my seat on stage, the applause grew louder and louder. Both of my opponents' mouths were gaping as they openly gawked at me, and I clearly recall staring back at them with a "Don't look at me - I don't get it, either!" expression on my own befuddled countenance.

Just before school let out for the day, the new Class Officers were announced over the Public Address system. I had not won, of course... that came as neither a surprise nor even a disappointment. What did come as a shock, however, was being served with a pass to report to the Principal's office just before the bell rang.

Oh, shit.

I hardly EVER misbehaved in school, and certainly never beyond the boundaries of a teacher or guidance counselor level of review. Catapulting to the conclusion that my public remarks had rocked the boat sufficiently to earn me the epitomically dreaded Principal's Pass, I fearfully contemplated the horrible fate that surely awaited as I headed for Mr. Purcell's office... and worse yet, what punishment I'd face at home when Momma got word of this.

Three decades later, even as I type these words, my palms are as moist and my heart is racing nearly as fast as it did for the ten or so angst-ridden minutes I waited outside the Principal's door, utterly defeated and eternally doomed. GAWD, teenage hormones are a bitch!

In my day, the relationship between teachers and students was never as informal as it has apparently become nowadays... and the Principal stood right behind God and Jesus at the head of the lunch line. By the time Mr. Purcell called me into his inner sanctum, I'd mentally fleshed out a hasty draft of my Last Will and Testament.

"Kelly?"

"Yes, Sir?"

"That was the best damn speech I've ever heard. You have a fantastic future ahead of you. I'm so proud of you I could bust, and I'll remember you at that podium until the day I die."

With an unvarnished "Say WHAT?" look on my face for the second time in a single day, I sat before the man in deer-caught-in-the-headlights silence, finally squeaking out a tentative "Thank You, Sir" while fervently praying I'd not wholly misunderstood what he'd just said and offered a monumentally inappropriate expression of gratitude in response.

Apparently I had not, because, after swearing me to secrecy, Mr. Purcell confided one more bit of information never before or since disclosed in the history of my school. I had lost the election by only two votes. Until this moment, I've never revealed that to a single other soul.

I thank you, Mr. Purcell, for entrusting me with that information. It proved to be one of the crowning jewels of my youth - and 38 years later, still occupies a special place my spiritual treasure chest. Even during during life's stormiest, most overcast interludes, its glint illuminates my path to this very day.