Prom, Part II

  Knock.  Knock.  Knock.

  Her mom answers.  “Ashley’s not quite ready yet.  You must be Kevin.  Kevin, would you like to join us in the living room? Can I get you something to drink, Kevin?  My, you sure look nice.  Ashley will be down in a minute, Kevin.  Have a seat.  Anywhere you’d like, Kevin.  Ashley!  Kevin’s here!”

  And as you wait for Ashley with Ashley’s parents in Ashley’s living room, wishing you could just wait in the car, it occurs to you.  No wonder so many horror movies are about prom.  Five, ten, fifteen minutes.  Down comes Ashley in her berry dress.  It’s nice, and she looks nice, and you tell her how nice she looks, and you have dinner reservations in ten minutes.  Then, out comes the camera.

  Snap.  Snap.  Snap.  Now one with Kevin and your father.  Now one to send your grandparents.  Now one with me and my daughter.  Smile.  Snap. Snap.  And one last picture of you, looking at your watch, taking Ashley’s wrist and dragging her to the car.  Dinner reservations in five minutes.  If we’re not there, they’ll give’em to someone else. 

  And now you’re in, and seated and looking at the most expensive menu you’ve ever seen.  You’ve got 50 dollars in your pocket, and you’re hoping she doesn’t see the Steak & Lobster.  Now you know why ladies get to order first.

   You’ve been up since six this morning.  Quick trip to the tanning salon.  Hours spent with your friend’s big sister doing, and re-doing, and re-doing your hair.  Hours spent on makeup, hours spent thumbing through the latest prom issue of Seventeen, hours spent on your nails.  Everything has to be just right.  Just right.

  Not two minutes after your mom zips you into your dress, Kevin’s at the door.  Didn’t get a chance to eat, and that Steak & Lobster’s looking good.  Real good.  But it’s so expensive, maybe I should just get the salad.  I’ll have the Steak & Lobster, you tell the waiter.  And a glass of water. 

  Kevin orders the salad.  And a dinner roll.

  After her dessert, it’s back to the Escalade with the shiny wheels, and time for prom.  Then it’s pictures, and that’s when you first notice her shoes.  She’s six inches taller than you, and you’re on the basketball team. 

  And you dance, but not too much, because you’re talking about after-prom parties, and who’s doing what, and who has to be home when.  And who’s buying the beer.  Jeff’s older brother got a hotel room and…

  “No drinking?”

  No drinking, I promise I promise, I promise.

  We could go bowling or to Village Inn or we could go to the party but not drink, right?  Right.  “Ashley, wanna go to Jeff’s party?”

  Absolutely No Sex or Drinking.  I promise, I promise, I promise.

  This prom night, have fun.  Play it safe.  And—whatever it takes—get the Escalade home by two.

-From Pulse
   May 5, 2005

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Prom

  It’s the biggest night of your life.  You’ve been looking forward to this night for years.  Everything, and I mean everything, has got to be just right.  He finally asked you.  You said you’d love to.  Now the fun starts…

  All the dresses.  All the colors.  All the designer names.  Different styles, different shades.  Your mother singing, “You’re not leaving the house in that, little lady/ I was thinking of something maybe a little longer/ Oh my God/ Over my dead body!”  So please, mama, please, I’ll be good until I’m thirty.  Well, I don’t know.  No sex?  No sex, mama, I promise.  All the other girls are wearing…

  Now you’ve got the dress you like, whew, relax. Relax. The hard part’s over.  Until you’re sitting at dinner and mom starts talking about prom.  Which suddenly shifts to drinking.  Which suddenly shifts to sex.  Again?  Again.  I promise, I promise, I promise.  No drinking.  No drinking and driving. Absolutely.  No sex.  No sex and driving.  I know it’s just as dangerous.  I know, I know, I know.  Silence.  Pass the potatoes, please.  Whew…

  Something on the radio now about prom, and tuxedos, and I hope Kevin’s gotten his already.  Your cell phone rings, it’s Kevin: “What color’s your dress.”  Berry, you say.  Berry?  Yeah, Kevin, Berry.  Like Blue Berry?  No, Kevin, more like Raspberry.  Like a smoothie.  Like a light purple.  Like a violet?  No, Kevin, not that blue. Oh…

  So you drive to the tux place so he can get a vest that matches your dress.  And this one’s close but not quite, close but not quite, close but just not quite.  And finally, close enough.  He gets it.

  So here it comes, prom.  You finally asked her.  She said she’d love to.  You tell your friends.  You tell your parents.  Whew, the hard part’s over.

  Something on the radio now about prom and tuxes and you check it out. Perry Ellis, Ralph Lauren, Givenchy, Michael Jordan, Zoot Suits, traditional, and the vests?  Oh no.  What color?  You call her.  Berry.  Berry?  That’s a color?  She comes down and finds one that’s almost Berry.  Whew.

  Now, what will you pick her up in?  You ask your dad to borrow his Escalade, because it’s cooler than your 1979 Gremlin, or Pinto, or El Camino, and the backseat is bigger.  He says yes, but you have to wash it, and no, absolutely no drinking.  Not a drop.  Not a drop, you promise.

  It’s Saturday morning.  You get up.  Wash the car.  Wax the car.  Polish the wheels.  Polish the wheels.  Polish the wheels.  You get the corsage.  Gotta pick her up at six, dinner reservations at six-thirty, Prom at nine.  At four, you start showering and digging the brake dust and wheel grease out from under your fingernails.  You shower, shave, into the tux and out the door.

  “No drinking, no speeding, watch out for the other guy, and I want my Escalade home by two!”

  To be continued…

-From Pulse
  April 28, 2005

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