Prom Night
To my prom date:
There is a Norman Rockwell painting of a young girl and boy sitting on the stools of a diner called “After the Prom”. The boy is a total geek, but looks good (even on the bar stool) in his white tux jacket The young blonde is wearing a to-the-floor white prom dress, showing off her corsage to the paper-hatted waiter, leaning forward with a sniff and a grin. A leather-jacketed and -hatted cop smiles next to the couple, holding a cup of coffee with his finger casually looped around the spoon still in the mug.
I, on the other hand, wore a blue plaid jacket to my prom. The yearbook picture is revolting.
That was some night! I was a total geek and you were kind enough to make us look good at the ball. I remember you had your hair all done up in Grecian curls. Wow! I assume I remembered to get you a corsage. And you probably gave me a hint as to the color it should be.
You always liked to dance. I hated it felt uncomfortable. But I enjoyed watching you.
Dope that I was, I’m sure I had nothing planned after the prom. As I recall, we ended up at Hackney’s, right? Classy place. The burgers were always great there. And the French fried onion rings…the best! Sorry about my lack of planning back then. I’m much better now.
We probably got home before midnight. Both of us had concerned parents. Unlike some other wild friends who’s parents let them stay out all night, “just this once.” The beginning of the end of civility.
In spite of the fact that Steve Steinberg won and my hating to dance, I remember it being a lovely evening.
