Tuesday, April 29, 2008
Pretty and Pink
Hey-hey! It's Prom Week, y'all! At least, in the blogosphere, it is.
If you've never been to prom, or if you have good memories of high school prom, or--especially--if you have bad memories and horrible stories, come one, come all.
Check out Miss Sunshine at her 'And the Pursuit of Happiness' blog, even if just to lurk and observe. Better yet, contribute a photo or an anecdote.
"All are welcome, all are welcome" (as Mr. Gomolvilas is always quoting).
My contributions to this type of online event may be a letdown in the sense that I attended perfectly enjoyable proms. BFF Kathy was my prom date two years in a row, at the end of my senior year, and then again, right before her graduation. We have nothing but good memories (although, I should really check with her) because we both love dancing and neither of us drink. We were good kids without inhibitions.
Even the bad stuff worked in our favor. On the day of my senior prom, during school, a drug-addled student showed up on campus with a rifle and shot it into the air, underneath one of the outdoor hallways. Ceiling pieces had ricocheted and injured a few students, but not seriously. No one died. It was 1984. Our high school's shooting did not make the national news.
We did get let out of school early, though, around lunch time. What luck! We all went home joyous over the unexpected extra time to get ready for the prom. Out on our driveway, I washed my parents' 1976 Malibu Classic Chevrolet so that Kathy would have a clean carriage to ride in, at least, if not a fancy limousine. The old car's door would not shut completely on the passenger side unless you slammed the hell out of it.
Kathy(in the front seat, leaning toward the driver's side): Yeah, ready.
Kathy's pink dress was layered with swiss-dotted lace. I was in the early stages of my twenty year Purple Period, so I wore a purple bow tie and cummerbund with my otherwise all-white ensemble, including white tails, white gloves, and brand spankin' new white Capezio jazz flats (a cherished birthday gift from my Aunt Pat). Kathy covered her bare shoulders with a white wrap that was more feathery than faux fur, so we matched enough, sort of.
Kathy didn't wear too much perfume so that allergic-to-everything-me wouldn't sneeze too much when we slow danced together.
If you believe in soul mates, Kathy is the closest I'll ever get to having one, in this lifetime. We may not be meant to be married to each other, but we definitely were meant to dance together. She became a high school chemistry teacher and we continued attending proms together as chaperons. We didn't do much actual chaperoning, but dance we did. As adults, it became tradition for us to leave the school prom early and change into jeans and tee shirts so that we could continue dancing the night away at a local gay bar.
When I received Kathy's wedding invitation a few years ago, I checked the 'yes' box to RSVP, even though she had already enlisted me as her maid-of-honor (no, I did not wear a dress to her wedding). I also added a quick note at the bottom: "Are we going dancing at the usual gay bar, after the reception?"