A pair of Star Wars-happy sixteen year olds set on a typical teenage mission
Mine was nowhere as good as his.
For one, he had the height. While I stood 5' 10', he towered over almost our entire inner circle.
Two, he had the mask. They had just come on the market, these hard plastic likenesses of Darth Vader, and cost what was then - and still today - a small fortune, particularly to us sixteen year olds. But, thank to his tallness, he was the first of us to have secured a job; lying about his age, he was hired by a local a bar. So there he was, in dark clothes, cape and impressive, expensive mask, a dead ringer for this new villain who, since summer, was fast capturing the public imagination.
I had to make do with the only character from the just released Star Wars I could get away with; given my everyboy looks and my lack of anything larger than life, it was going to be blandest. The saving grace was that he was also the hero.
I found a robe-like karate outfit, and made a makeshift light saber from the cardboard tube left over from a roll of wrapping paper; thank God it was close to Christmas, or Darth would have gone to this community center dance as the only representative of the movie.
If you were on the streets of downtown Ottawa that December of 1977, you would have seen the dynamics that energized the film completely disrupted, for there were Luke and Darth, mortal enemies, walking and laughing together.
At the dance, the predictable happened: everyone was impressed by Darth - including a miniature version of same, with whom he danced all night. When, just to be sure, Darth The Taller asked whether or not the presence inside Darth The Smaller's mask was male or female, he disappointedly heard a distinctly female voice answer, "Male!"
I had to work much harder to explain who I was, particularly when separated from Darth, in whose company my appearance became self explanatory.
I did, however, manage to get into a long, engaging conversation with a cute-as-a-couch-full-of-kittens brunette, whose costume, unlike her endearing smile, I can't remember.
After a night's worth of chatting, the fateful moment came - the obligation to ask for her phone number. I got as far as the first syllable. I was interrupted by a protracted "Ahhhhhhh! That's what your costume is!," just as Darth rejoined me. "You're the cute guy in the movie!" Wonderful! Wonderful!!! I could have de-masked Darth, gotten on my tippy toes, and kissed him full on the lips; after that comment, procuring the phone number would be a cinch! "Except," she added more quietly, "that you're not cute."
I smiled a smile hollower than my best friend's unattended mask. I allowed her to take her leave, and Darth and I, as single as we were before the evening began, set out a few songs before evening's end into the cold and dark.
What good were our presences with no princesses to procure?
