The following is a light-hearted story of young love, young love lost, and growing up ten years ago to the day, on the day we commemorate the victims of the horrific tragedy at Columbine.

And enjoy a little music as you read this diary.

"Impromptu in G-Flat Major" by Franz Schubert, Op. 90 No. 3, played by Alfred Brendel.

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On Tuesday, April 20, 1999, I had a mission.  I had a clear objective, I had a strategy, and I was going to go to bed that night knowing I did what I needed to do, no matter what happened.

I was going to ask that girl that I liked to prom.

I was 15 at the time, just a pimple-faced freshman in a new school.  Though I had a couple crushes, I had never been on a date with any girl at that point in my life.  But prom was coming up, and I still didn't have a date.  My school was unique in that it let any student go to prom, regardless of their class year -- it just meant that I couldn't go to any of the hoppin' after-parties they supposedly had set up for the student body.

So the pressure was on.  I spent most of the day wracking my brain about how I was going to approach that utterly terrifying, mortifying moment that hits every young (heterosexual) male at some point in his life: Asking a girl out.  Was I going to call her?  Was I going to approach her after school?  Was I going to leave her a tiny little note with a heart on it asking if she'd be my date, and then hope to get a note with a heart that said "YES!!!" a la Pedro in Napoleon Dynamite?

Well, she wasn't at school that day, so that took out stopping her in the hallway after school, and presumably she wouldn't be seeing any notes from me if she were absent.  So, the phone it was.  But boy, was I nervous.  What in the hell was I going to say?  Was I going to stammer my way through the question?  How would I sound?  Was my voice going to crack?  What would I say if she said no?  Would my question come out sounding like a jumbled cacophony of adolescent mumblings, like, "Willugodoprmwthmeeee?"

And all that was before asking her to prom in the first place.  That didn't even get into the far-more difficult problem of how on earth I was going to tell her that I liked her.

See, when you're 15, and you barely understand anything about your own body, much less why you're attracted to another person, your mind -- and your hormones -- start racing in peculiar and hilarious ways.  You fixate on all the little details about everything that can go wrong.  You become nervous and terrified to the point of tricking yourself into thinking that if you sit there and do nothing, the problem will just go away.  And you build up something as trivial as prom night to be, to paraphrase Ferris Bueller, the end-all be-all event of human existence, as though you were asking your date to marry you.  Hey, in my defense, I'll bet there was a time during the Middle Ages that if you were a courting a lady at the age of 15, you were basically making a declaration of marriage, if it wasn't already arranged by your parents.

Complicating all of this was that I had my sights set on someone whom my brother had once briefly dated.  He didn't harbor any romantic feelings for her by the time I was ready to ask her out, but it did add another level of thorns to an already thorny situation for me.  So I wasn't about to ask his permission, but at the same time it did make me wonder how he would react if he had found out I was even remotely interested in her -- and sooner or later, he was going to find out.

Eventually, I settled on a six-pronged, telephone-based strategy.  That is, an introduction, followed by a three-part interview consisting of one question each, followed by a self-evaluation.  It went as follows:

1. Say hello.

2. Ask if she's going to prom.

3. If yes to #2, ask if she had a date to prom.

4. If no to #3, ask her to prom.

5. If yes to #3, blame self for not asking her sooner.

And then the sixth step was that if she said yes to #4....well, I didn't plan for that.  Feel delighted, I guess.

This was my mission.  And yes, I DID actually plan that strategy.  So that night, after doing some push-ups and a meditation exercise (yeah, you do this stuff when you're young, stupid, and infatuated with someone), I boldly marched over to the phone and dialed the number.  She picked up.  The mission was underway.

The first step went fine.

The second step went fine.

The third step went fine.

And then, the critical fourth step......

wait for it......suspense..........................

"Sure!"

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I hung up.  Man, was I relieved.  And man, was I thrilled.

She said yes to me!

I must have booked it faster than Usain Bolt out of the house.  I was springting around the block and cheering at the sky like I had just won the lottery.  I mean, for all I felt, I DID just win the friggin' lottery.  She said YES!  As I recall while running around the block, I had "I'm So Excited" by the Pointer Sisters stuck in my head the whole time.  I dunno, it seemed appropriate.  And yes, for the record, I am heterosexual.  Can you blame me if my mind took me to funny places when I was in a state of utter bliss?

On April 20, 1999, my first foray into love and dating began.  I asked a girl out, and she said yes.  Yeah, I was the man that day.

Or so I thought.

It turned out the happiness was very, very short-lived.  Not even 24 hours did it last.

The next night, she called me.  I thought she was calling to figure out all the gory prom details -- you know, the limo, the dress, where we were gonna get dinner, the works.  But that wasn't it at all.

She told me that she had to turn me down because she had already been asked to prom months before by someone she had once dated (a friend of mine, actually), before they had broken up.

Cue this young man's heart ripping in half.

The moment I asked her to prom, I foolishly thought that there would be no one else.  She said yes the first time.  I couldn't accept that she said no the next day.  With that rigid mindset, I then worked tirelessly to win her over after she had turned me down.  It was frustrating and painful, but I had to do it.  It was love, man.  At least, that's what I thought it was at the age of 15.

About a year later, after repeated efforts to get closer to her, I eventually came to realize that she and I were not right for each other.  My family also took great pains to ensure my well-being after the emotional toll the year had taken on me.  My sense of misplaced devotion to this one person didn't allow me to think rationally or even remotely consider asking out other girls.

A blinding force, that crazy little thing called love.

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I didn't know anyone at Columbine.  Living in a suburb north of Chicago, I didn't even hear about what had happened until right after I came back inside from running around the block.  My head was still swimming with the thrill of (then) having a prom date, but I turned on the news, and all that anybody was talking about was that 15 people were shot dead inside a high school in Littleton, Colorado.  Scores of others were wounded.

I remember my mother came home from work late that night, and that she didn't say much.  She clenched my shoulder and kissed me on the cheek before going to bed.  A goodnight kiss from my mother was nothing unusual, but this time it had felt like there was more urgency and concern to it.  She later told me that she touched my shoulder that night because that was her way of expressing just how grateful she was that nothing as terrible as Columbine ever happened to me or my brothers.

I don't believe in fate.  I think our lives, while heavily governed by the laws of evolution and natural selection, are mostly a series of unexpected, random events that set in motion a series of other unexpected, random events.  To this day, I still have no idea how April 20, 1999 changed my life forever.  Who can say?  Maybe if she had been my prom date, we would have been in a long-term relationship.  Maybe I would have gone to a different college.  Maybe I would have focused on a different career path.  Maybe I would never have made the wonderful friends I've made along the way in ten years.  Maybe I would have never met the amazing girlfriend I love very much and to whom I've been in the same relationship for more than three years.

All I really know is that, in spite of my foolish notions of love when I was young, I had much reason to be happy on 4/20/99, and I still cherish the happy memory of that day.  Happy because I had taken a first step to telling a girl that I liked her.  But more importantly, forever grateful that I'm still alive to laugh and share my life with my family and friends, acknowledging the terrible sadness that the victims at Columbine are not.

Ten years ago, my father told me that I would look back on that whole prom experience and laugh.  He was right.  And even in the face of a tanking economy, two wars abroad, and the 10th anniversary of a horrific episode of school violence, I hope each and every one of you take a little moment today to laugh, sing, and smile.  A little laughter, a little music, and a little love goes a long way to adding years to your life.

By the way, to the girl that I asked out ten years ago (if she's reading this): No hard feelings from me.  It taught me just a little bit more about myself.  I'm still learning things about myself I didn't know before.  I hope you'll have many more years to learn, and think, and cherish your happy memories, just like I have.

Peace to all.

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Cross-posted at Daily Kos