Something She Can Feel

“Are you sure this is what you want?”

Evan eased up beside us and just sat there in his car.

“No,” I admitted quietly. “But I don’t think I can know what I want right now.”

Every year on the Saturday night before graduation, Evan and I dressed up to attend the senior prom. He’d pull out his tuxedo and I’d go shopping for a blush-colored dress—the same color I’d worn when it was our prom and we’d been crowned class king and queen, and he’d arrive at the house just in time to pick me up, with a corsage in his hand and I’d have a pink rose to pin to his lapel. It was a silly tradition we’d enjoyed every year since I’d started teaching, and it wasn’t only because we were able to put on our black-tie best and dance beneath soft light, but somehow, going to the prom always helped us to reconnect. The silly night when my seniors got ready to enjoy their first recognized evening of true freedom, we were remembering how long it had been since we’d been the couple leading the pack, looking back at no one and dreaming, like only young people can about what our future together would be like.

When I got home from work on Friday evening, after going over the songs the chorus was to sing at the graduation for hours after school, and walked into the bedroom, I was surprised to see that Evan had pulled his tuxedo out of the closet. It was hanging behind the bathroom door in a fresh plastic covering from the cleaners. While I’d seen the flyers all around the school and a couple of people had asked if we were attending, I didn’t think to ask him to go. With everything going on, the drama with Dame just two days behind us, I thought he’d want to stay home. But when I saw the suit, I was actually happy. A bit relieved. If Evan could see himself going to the dance with me, surely he was serious about forgiving me. Maybe we could move on from what happened. Maybe this could be our new start.

And the next evening, just as he had for years, Evan picked me up at 7:30 p.m. He’d left the house earlier, so I could get ready on my own. When I came outside, dressed in the same blush gown I’d worn the year before, he was standing in front of his open car door holding a pink corsage in his hand. His legs spread a bit apart, his shoulders up straight, he looked dignified and handsome. While none of our parents were there waiting on the steps to see us off, beneath the setting sun, he seemed like a teenage boy who was courting his love for the first time. It was an uneasy moment to say the least, but still, even in our stress, I appreciated his sweetness.

When I was in front of him, Evan got down on his knee and slid the corsage on my hand.

“I don’t have a boutonniere for you,” I said with a slight grin.

“I picked up one,” he said, pulling one from his jacket pocket. “I figured you’d forgetten.”

“Oh, Evan,” I said.

“There’s been a lot going on.” He got up and stood in front of me. “A lot of mess. But let’s just let tonight be beautiful. Let’s let it be our new start.”

“I was thinking the same thing.”

As wild and out there as we all claimed our students were, on prom night they always proved us wrong. These kids had style and panache; they were creative and bold. And each year, walking into the prom, this was put center stage. The girls looked like movie stars. Hair was everywhere and their dresses, most of which they’d designed themselves and had someone sew, made them look beautiful and so grown up. And while they were usually underdressed, on prom night, the boys came to be seen. They were clean from head to toe. Some in all white and others with silly top hats, coat tails, and canes.

While we didn’t have the money to rent a space or go to a catering hall, the students did a fine job of turning the school gym into an underground Atlantis, blanketed in colorful nets and seashells that shimmered with glitter. All of the students looked so proud in their moment, and having worked with most of them for four years straight, I was able to remember the hard times when some of them had left school temporarily or didn’t look like they’d ever make it through. But here they were, beating the statistical odds and moving up in the world. For some of them, this would be the last stop, but others would see many more black-tie balls, and even with all of the stress, I was happy to have been an usher along the way.

As Evan and I danced in the middle of the floor, where no other teacher could come up to try to grab him to get more information about how the school was going to divvy up the million dollars, I thought of Zenobia and prayed she’d someday make it to the prom. After I’d spoken to her, I walked her to the school psychologist’s office, and together we got her mother to the school and she told her about the baby. It was hard for both of them at first, but once Zenobia’s mother realized that the girl was serious, she agreed to come up with a plan so they could all just survive. I knew it was no solution and that there’d be many more days I’d find Zenobia crying, but it was a start.

“What are you thinking about?” Evan asked.

“Just one of my students,” I answered. “What about you?”

“What I always think about,” he said. “You.”

I smiled and rested my head on his shoulder.

“Do you remember what happened the week before our prom?”

“Oh, no, don’t bring that up again,” I said.

“No, tonight is about reminiscing.” He laughed.

“You got hives,” I said reluctantly.

“Yep. My father was adding a new room to our house, and I fell on the insulation and got hives all over my body.”

“It was gross,” I added.

“My face was red as a strawberry, and the doctor said there was no way I’d be able to make it to the prom.”

“You didn’t come to school the whole week,” I remembered.

“And you cried. You called my mama and you cried so hard about how you didn’t want to go to the prom alone that I could hear you through the phone.”

“I was not that loud,” I protested playfully.

“Yes, you were,” he went on. “And she was in the kitchen on the phone, so you know that was loud.”