Prom Princess

I was driven to my Junior Prom in a silver Acura MDX. Limos were astoundingly expensive - just thinking the word “prom” must have tacked on $200 extra dollars to their already high prices. But I didn’t mind. I was used to that Acura. 

And I was so blindingly in love with its owner.

He regularly went out of his way to drive me home from our play rehearsals. Usually he handpicked beautiful songs to share. His selections were an intimate insight into his oft guarded persona. Sometimes he layered his God-given beautiful voice over the recorded ones, sending warm curls down my spine. I was honored just to be near him; to hear him sing along with “It Don't Make Sense” from the gut wrenching musical Parade or BBMak’s harmonious version of “More Than Words” was akin to life changing church sermons that open your eyes to new revelations.

I don’t know what we listened to on the drive to Edison’s Victorian Manor, and I don’t know what we talked about. I wouldn’t be surprised if he played something by the Backstreet Boys just to make the night extra special. He was that kind of guy. Even though he usually got lost in his own world, when faced with a special occasion, he had the ability to hyperfocus on the day. I must have felt like I was approaching a royal ball in my pumpkin carriage, riding with him in that Acura.

I imagine that once we parked the silver chariot, he came around to help me out. I needed his hand to steady me and the sunset magenta ball gown I wore. I loved my dress - I hadn’t looked at anything but fairytale ball gowns, and the one I chose had a peachy undertone to its bright tule. To complete the feel of the magic, I wore a small tiara surrounded by my tightly curled hair and romantic rhinestone shoes with a large sparkling heart dropping onto my foot. They were expensive but so beautiful and comfortable that I told my mother I would wear them to my wedding. (I didn’t, but not for lack of trying.)

The prom was upstairs, and I floated up the curved, red carpeted staircase as if on a cloud. When my large dress, handsome date, and I rounded the corner, I gathered a collection of odd looks from girls in straight, strappy, more modest dresses. In the past, the judgment of others against my off-the-beaten-path fashion choices had bothered me, but nothing could dampen my spirits that night. Go ahead and stare at this beautiful gown, I found myself thinking. I loved it. 

(The next week, a girl on my bus would sidle up to me and say, “I loved your dress. You looked amazing.” Probably what they were all thinking.)

His presence next to me made me feel special all night. We ate, talked, laughed. Played a game of “that guy’s gay.” He guessed two of my closest friends, who I insisted weren’t for all their talk of girls, were. In the long run, he turned out to be right. Of course. 

We sat down to a mediocre buffet dinner, and Savage Garden’s “I Knew I Loved You” flowed through the speakers. “I love this song,” he said to me. 

“Me, too!” I gushed to him about the time I was in Andrew Fromm’s car and it came on the radio. Andrew had proclaimed it genius and lamented that he hadn’t written it. 

He raised his eyebrow at me. “Let’s dance,” he said. 

Which was absolutely absurd. It was dinner time. No one was on the dance floor. 

But I had faced enough stares that night. None of them had mattered. So let us be the only couple on the dance floor, me and this boy who sang me sweet songs. So let everyone see us have this unashamed, intimate moment together. His arms slid around my waist and I held onto his neck, and we laughed about how stupid we were being. “This is our Princess Diaries moment,” he told me. 

He was oh, so right. 

It was the highlight of the evening. The rest of the time was fun, dancing to our prom song only chosen for nostalgia (K-Ci and Jo-Jo’s “All My Life”), laughing hysterically when the last song of the night was “Sexual” by Amber (were they sending subliminal messages to the 16 year olds in the crowd?), and munching on mozzarella sticks at the Edison Diner with our full prom table afterwards because our plates had been taken when we had our solo on the dance floor. And because calories don’t mean anything when you’re that age. 

But that night did mean something. It was a moment in time where everything went right for me. Me, the girl who spent her childhood being overweight and made fun of by boys instead of being crushed on by them. Me, who’d only ever had two, month long relationships despite being desperate for love and holding the knowledge that I’d be an amazing, caring girlfriend. Me, who at 16 had never been kissed but wouldn’t give that up for just anyone. I got to have a night with the angel-voiced prince of my dreams where he wasn’t distracted by our other friends at rehearsal. And he didn’t run away from me even though he knew how I felt about him, and he didn’t feel the same way. 

He couldn’t feel the same way. There was a reason his gaydar was so on point. But no one at the prom who didn’t know had to know that. All they saw was a princess and her prince unafraid to dance alone while they looked on. 

We’re distant now, he and I. I’ve seen him a few times since high school, but life gets in the way of maintaining old friendships based mostly on immediate people and experiences you have in common. So we’ve drifted. But my mind still replays that dance sometimes and giggles at how triumphant it felt. 

MA, thank you for such a wonderful prom night.