Lore Letter 013

Under the prom lights, the past and future share a dance.

Author’s note:

She’s baaaaaaaack! My time off was filled with trying every seasonal snack Trader Joe’s offers, binging The X-Files (if you look like a young David Duchovny…call me), and having only a handful of existential crises. I’m ready to dive back into this project, revitalized and with a better idea of how I want to make the most of it.

This piece of Lore, auspicious number 13, is about one of my favorite photos of my parents, Brian and Amy, when they chaperoned the 1989 prom in Rifle, Colorado. My mom’s puffy sleeves! My dad’s grimace! The problematic prom theme, which appears to just be “Asia”! It’s everything to me. Since this was 36 (!) years ago, my parents’ memories of the evening are understandably foggy, but they’ve given me permission to take some artistic license. Also, bonus pic of my own prom below because this whole exercise has me feeling nostalgic.

It’s good to be back!

When Amy bought her bridesmaid’s dress for her best friend’s wedding, she never thought it would skim across another dance floor. Brian’s being economical, too, taking his suit for a test drive before their rehearsal dinner this summer. She loves calling him her fiancé to her friends, waving the ring and feigning modesty even though she never gets tired of looking at the flower of emeralds flanked by diamonds. But the word gets stuck in her throat every time she walks through the high school doors. Getting married seems a world away when she’s teaching, jostling in the halls against freshmen girls in pigtails and senior boys that somehow grow facial hair with more ease than her future husband. But at Rifle High School, they occupy a shared universe, one where some streamers and tinsel can make a kid forget they were running sprints across this same gym just yesterday morning.

Brian picks Amy up early so they can get their assignments. Punchbowl duty would be nice, Amy thinks. But they’re relegated to the doors, instructed to take coats and bags and, if anyone comes from the pre-prom looking a little too happy, give the pockets a sneaky feel for the bulge of a flask before tagging them.

“Keep this number in your pocket so you can get your coat later. Have a nice prom.”

Brian is a man with a plan, most comfortable with busy hands, so he neatly drapes the coats over the hangers as Amy chats with her students. She prides herself on knowing the latest fashion trends, being a home economics teacher, and also only being 26, but the hoop skirts have her stuck. The girls glide through the doors in their Scarlett O’Hara best, bumping against the walls and tripping up their poor dates with the volume.

“Hi, Ms. Wilson.” “Oh, your dress is so pretty, Ms. Wilson.” “Why is your dad here, Ms. Wilson?”

Thank God Brian is fetching more hangers. Amy likes his gray hair, the way it swoops to the side and makes him look serious even when he’s not. She knows he’s one of those men who will look the same for a long time, and she doesn’t mind. It makes her feel like she’s looking at the future.

The party is in full swing now, the music punctuated by the static sound of big taffeta skirts rubbing and the whoops of boys daring each other to kiss their date. The principal reassigns them to PDA patrol. Amy can tell Brian would rather die — maybe they have something for him to organize — so their policing leans toward the permissive rather than the punitive. She had been more worried about the booze anyway, and Brian was sure his search had come up clean. Let the kids be in love, she thinks. After all, they are.

Only a few minutes of cajoling is enough to get Brian on the dance floor. It’s their song, so they really had no choice.

Trying to catch your heart

Is like trying to catch a star

So many people love you, baby

That must be what you are...

They sway under the gold fabric covering the ceiling, and Amy thinks about her own prom. She sewed her dress herself after seeing Lady Di’s wedding dress. She supposes she can’t judge the hoop skirts too harshly after all. Brian is focused on his feet at first, but soon loosens up, and they spend the rest of the song looking into each other’s eyes. They’re both blue, but his are lighter, and there are crinkles around the corners as he smiles.

Amy remembers her student’s mistake about Brian and the future they’re promised in a couple short months. She tries to remember her own prom date. Did she look into his eyes? She remembers his hands were sweaty enough to leave a mark on the waist. Not Brian’s. They’re steady and sure. She remembers his red sweater at the bar the night they met, hurrying back and forth past her table until he worked up the nerve and she thought, “It took you long enough to find me.” Then to the moment he proposed, blurting out the words as she scrubbed the toilet in a grubby sweatshirt, less cinematic maybe but beautiful because it was theirs. It’s both of their lifetimes stretched across her mind, parallel lines chugging along until that day they met. They’re laced together forever now.

The next time Amy Wilson and Brian Exstrum dance to this song, they’ll be married. But now they’re taking in the view from the precipice. Cheap confetti falls and sticks to their foreheads, and they look back one last time to see where they’ve been. At the horizon ahead is everything to come, a house, hopefully, and a yard. A garden to sow. A family of their own. Maybe a daughter.

Waiting for a star to fall

And carry your heart into my arms

That’s where you belong

In my arms...