“Make room, mister.” I lay on top of Reese; butt to butt, back to back, delighting in the sun’s rays and admiring the clouds float by. The sound of Reese’s heartbeat filled my ears. “This is comfy,” I said, snuggling in.
“Aaaarrrgh.” Reese pretended my weight squashed him, then reached his arms around behind his back and tickled the sides of my waist. He got up, lifting me on his back and deposited me on the bench beside him. Impressive, considering his ankle injury. Nose to nose, he stared at me with smiling eyes. “Dinnertime,” he said as he helped me up. Sarah and Kurt, used to us goofing off together, understood we were friends, no teasing required.
In the cafeteria line, I helped myself to mac and cheese, green beans, peaches and cookies. Sarah and the others followed behind. I waited for Sarah.
“There’s a table over there.” I pointed by the window. A fresh food rotation held the boys up, and when they arrived, Reese came bearing a personal-sized carton of milk for me. “I brought milk for Cammie,” he sang, setting it in front of me. Since I forgot my drink, it was an extra pleasant surprise. What a nice guy. Kurt and Sarah glanced at each other and I briefly wondered what the look was all about.
When Sarah and I hunkered down in our dorm for the night, I remembered our unfinished conversation from homeroom. “So, why wouldn’t your dad tell you who killed Kurt’s calf?”
Sarah rolled over in her bunk, her expression puzzled, like she wondered the same thing. “He just said someone was upset and he didn’t want to make matters worse. He was just going to drop it.”
“Drop it? But what happened was creepy, Sarah.” I rolled back and forth on my bunk, unsettled.
“I know, totally. But he said it was best to let it go and something about ‘picking your battles’.”
Sarah yawned. I wasn’t sure if it was real or a signal for me to drop it too, but I let it go.
* * *
Prom, the next major item on the social agenda, dominated our thoughts, taking a backseat to other, intermittent activities: track meets, golf meets, more youth events, skating, bowling.
Kate and Sarah showed up on my doorstep one weekend morning. “Room service,” they said when I opened the door. They pushed past me, finding their own way to the kitchen, three Tupperware containers and a jug of orange juice in tow. Kate unveiled warm scrambled eggs, hash browns, and bacon. “We thought you’d like breakfast.”
Sarah opened cupboards in the kitchen. “Where’s the glasses?” We set the table and dug in.
“What are you doing for prom?” Sarah asked no one in particular.
After we stared at each other for six uncomfortable seconds, Kate sheepishly spoke. “Eric asked me.” But then happy and slightly smug she said, “I accepted.”
Sarah finished chewing her toast. “Crud. Mmm . . . hmm,” she said, trying to remain calm. Kate and I braced for an explosion. “Brent and I made plans. We’re going together.” She swallowed the final crumbs from her toast, then looked at me.
“I was hoping Victor would ask me out. I doubt it though,” I said, scooting cold scrambled eggs around on my plate. “I got that box of chocolates on Valentine’s Day and have hardly seen him since. Maybe I should call him and ask. Or maybe I’ll go stag. No matter what, I’m making my dress.”
“You’re making it? You are so domestic!” Sarah sounded awestruck. She couldn’t even sew on a button.
“Yes, I’m making it. I’ve already started. Come here, I’ll show you.” The girls followed me upstairs to the loft where Jo kept her sewing gear. She let me use her machine and bought me my own scissors, needles, sewing box, seam ripper and other supplies as individual gifts for the “Twelve Days of Christmas,” one little sewing item each day, making it fun. I had already laid out the pattern pieces on top of mint green satin and lace material and pinned them into place. “I’m ready to start cutting.” They marveled.
“Why didn’t you tell us you could do this?” Kate asked.
“I don’t know. I didn’t tell you I could cook either. Chili and corn bread here, tonight, before the chorus concert.”
Sarah smacked her lips, made a yummy motion with her hand over her stomach.
“Invite the guys too.”
Whiskers had followed us up the stairs, not wanting to be left out.
“Reese and Kurt will show for sure,” Kate said.
At the mention of Reese’s name, Whiskers barked, then pranced around excitedly.
“I hope Victor comes this time.” As I spoke, Whiskers hung her head, suddenly bored.
“And Eric,” Kate said, to which Whiskers slunk to the floor, sad eyes peeking up at us.
Sarah reached down to stroke Whiskers. “I’m with you.”
* * *
Sarah, Kate, Reese and Kurt showed up for dinner. The other boys, anti-social as usual. Reese and Sarah practiced scales, exercising their vocal cords for the show while I ladled out chili and passed the cornbread.
“Thanks for the food,” Reese said when he finished. Whiskers dropped a tennis ball at his feet. “That was really good.” The others nodded agreement. He threw the ball across the room. Whiskers gave chase.
“No problem,” I said, focused on getting ready for the concert. I ran up to my room to change clothes and came down a minute later tucking in my shirt. Reese and Kurt sat waiting in the living room, Reese still playing with Whiskers.
“Can you see my shirt through these?” I turned around like a dog chasing its tail, trying to see if my pants were too tight. “Does this make my butt look fat?” Kurt chuckled and Reese said, “Looks fine,” and meant it, but not in the platonic way I thought he did.
“Good. Let’s go,” I called, interrupting the others’ excited conversation regarding the upcoming prom. Sarah informed everyone that she and Brent might sneak away from prom to pursue other activities. “So don’t come looking for us. Don’t let anyone else come either. I am dead serious,” she said, looking straight at Kate. “Hell to pay. Got it?”
CHAPTER 4
“Forgetfulness is a form of freedom.”
—Khalil Gibran
After I mustered enough courage and asked Victor to prom, he gave me some lame drivel about having to ask his mom and said he’d let me know. Time ticked away. A week later, I still didn’t have an answer. Complicating the matter, Sarah passed me a choice note during our usual exchange. It read:
Dear Camryn,
Because I am too chicken to ask face to face, I am writing you a note. Sorry about waiting so long to ask, but . . . Deep breath, here it goes. Would you go to prom with me? If yes, send a note back through Sarah.
Sincerely,
Reese Dahlgren
What if it was no? Then what was I supposed to do? Anyway . . . this possibility had never entered my mind, yet it made a lot of sense. Yes, I definitely wanted to go with Reese, a much better scenario than going alone or waiting around for Victor. Victor, I thought, sickened. He still had my outstanding invitation I wanted to rescind. Awkward as it was, I had to renege.
“Is Victor there?” I said, making the call, my stomach flopping inside.
“Go,” he said, businesslike, hurrying me up.
“You hadn’t gotten back to me about prom,” I said, dancing around the point, extending my nausea, “and I got a better offer. I mean, I figured you weren’t interested, so I’d rather go with someone who was.”
“Go for it,” he said, unconcerned, as if I had never asked in the first place, as if he was half listening, otherwise occupied.
Victor was history.
Deed done, I caught up with Reese the next day on my way to school. “I got your note yesterday. I’d love to be your prom date,” I said, overly dramatic.
Reese’s face flushed. “You would?” he said, surprised that I took him up on it. “I thought you wanted to go with Victor.”
“I did, until a better offer came around.”
Reese smiled, then asked, “Where did you want to go for dinner? Before prom, I mean.”
“M
cDonald’s,” I teased.
“Whatever you want. Shall we go all out and patronize the drive-thru?” Reese said, sincere about fulfilling my fancy, but tongue-in-cheek about the drive-thru. I playfully whopped him over the head with my notebook, and on the down swath, accidentally grazed the bridge of his nose. Blood dripped everywhere.
“Oh my gosh! Are you okay? I’m so sorry!” Frantically, I rummaged through my purse, producing some crumpled, unused Kleenex. Before I could even think, I pinched Reese’s nose with the wad.
“Lotta thanks I get for asking you on a date,” Reese said, holding his nose tight, starting to crack up. The situation struck us both as hilarious; we laughed, paused, looked at each other, and laughed again in cycles for the next five minutes. Between a pause and a look, I thought, did he say a date?
* * *
Saree-
Did you hear that Reese and I are going to prom together? Victor blew his chance. His loss. My gain. This will be way better anyway. We are going to McDonald’s for pre-prom dinner. Care to join us? Hee Hee.
My dress is almost done. What kind of boutonniere should I get him? Maybe a white rose, colored to match my dress?
—Cam
P.S. Kate flunked Chemistry, did you hear? Has to go to summer school to graduate, but they’re letting her be in the ceremony, assured this is just a fluke. Too much hands-on learning with Eric rather than studying her textbook.
* * *
“Camryn, I have this huge problem.” Sarah ran down the hall, skidding to a halt by my locker. Out of breath she said, “Kate talked to John. He wants to go to prom with me . . . blind date.” She twisted and untwisted her hair in anxious, excited indecision. “I hardly know him! I already made plans with Brent!”
Reclusive John, peeked from his shell. Even Kate’s one or two dates with him yielded no information other than he wasn’t interesting enough for her. Sarah was all over uncharted territory, couldn’t get enough, no matter who it was, all the more welcome since she had become bored with Brent. Fresh interest from a mysterious stranger revved her engine. “He’s going to call me tonight,” she said, unable to calm herself, jumping up and down.
“Why don’t you explain that you already made plans and then go out with him another time?” I suggested.
“Yes!” Sarah said, lighting up, cogs churning in her mind.
CHAPTER 5
“Eros will have naked bodies; Friendship naked personalities.”
—C.S. Lewis
The Thursday before prom, Reese tooled around the gymnasium suspending sparkly fantasy clouds, rainbows, stars, and posters, creating our theme of Almost Paradise. Sarah, Kate, Kurt, and others volunteered their free time, or simulated free time, to help. Teachers graciously pretended not to notice truants, myself included, although I preferred to think of it as an excused absence. With Reese on scaffold, I maneuvered him to the next cloud position, the next, and the next. I watched him place each one as we exchanged smiles, laughs, and engaged the other cloud-hanging crew in pickup games of scaffold chicken. About the time parent sponsors reprimanded us for irresponsible foolery (Reese nearly falling twenty feet), my dad arrived to take me to the orthodontist for my Ortho and Bitewing Railroad expungement. Even though three years of pain, discomfort, food entrapment, and flawed photographs was coming to a welcome end, I wished not to leave. My first taste of quandary.
* * *
Reese depressed the doorbell at exactly six o’clock as promised. He stood tall in white tails with a box in his hands. I hadn’t asked in advance what he was wearing, but surmised that he’d be adorned in a black tux, so it took a minute to process the perfection of white. My mint green dress had white satin trim. We were compliments.
“Here’s your boutonniere,” I said as I made a feeble attempt to pin the mint-frosted white rose on his lapel. We cracked up laughing because I couldn’t get it pinned on straight and had to defer to the expert, Jo. She felt honored having a part in the evening, a great help. Reese blushed as he stood uncomfortably at attention.
“Here are your flowers,” Reese said, handing me the box. Since I didn’t think my lace neckline would hold a pin-on corsage, I wished for a wrist ensemble, but didn’t have the nerve to make such an expensive request. I decided I’d be happy with anything. Reese exceeded my wildest hopes.
“Oh my gosh!” I said, happily stunned with the bouquet of white daisies and pink rosebuds. Bouquets were just for weddings, weren’t they?
Father checked his watch, always keeping a schedule. “Okay, out to the garden for pictures.” The parental units paraded us out back. Even Reese’s mother walked over to take a few snapshots of us against the evergreen backdrop, check out my home-sewn dress, and see her handsome son off on his first and only prom date.
“I love your dress,” she said.
“She did do a nice job,” Jo chimed in, Father in agreement.
While they muttered about the intricacies of dress construction, I said to Reese, “Even my mother liked it for once.” I lifted the skirt slightly, proud, showing off my handiwork. “She normally hates everything I do.”
“It looks nice,” he said, his cadence suggesting I disregard my mother’s normal objections, and his empathetic expression, those eyes, melting me inside.
“Hold that”—Jo snapped a picture before we could move—“pose. Good one,” she said.
Dinner, ten miles away at the Crow’s Nest in Fontana, Wisconsin, challenged the etiquette impaired. Me. Reese, a gentleman, pushed in my chair as I sat. The chair legs caught in the burgundy plush, then instead of sliding in behind me, broke loose, knocking me behind the knees. I sat abruptly.
“Sorry,” Reese said, embarrassed, yet laughing at the same time, as was I.
The waiter presented us with menus filled with unpronounceable and mostly unfamiliar fare. No cheeseburger and fries? The McDonald’s option we teased about earlier almost seemed favorable. After I ordered Hollandaise Chicken, I had a good twenty minutes to figure out the knives, forks, and spoons.
“Which fork do I use?” I asked.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure why they set the table with all this silverware,” Reese said as the waiter brought salads. The waiter explained to start with the outermost fork. Our cheeks flushed red knowing that our ignorance had been overheard. We laughed again, at ourselves.
“Isn’t that Mr. and Mrs. Gavins?” I asked, pointing to an elderly couple heading our way. “They’re from church,” I whispered hurriedly, unable to tell Reese that she adopted me as her granddaughter. “I only have grandsons,” she had said.
“Don’t you two look nice,” she said, picking up my bouquet, smelling the roses. “I remember when Mr. Gavins took me to the prom.” She batted her eyelashes at him. He touched her shoulder, moving her on, but not before I caught the twinkle in her eyes.
When the waiter served our entrées, I discovered my napkin was still precisely nestled in a goblet instead of spread across my lap; I blushed, laughing yet again at my ineptitude while rectifying the situation. I’d have been mortified if I had slobbed on myself. Dinner went well. No major food catastrophes. My snow peas didn’t even fly across the table as I cut them with the edge of my fork.
“The chicken was the best,” I said, stopping short of licking my plate clean.
“Ready for dessert?” Reese asked. Dessert? Did he say dessert? My family never ordered dessert. We were usually too full and always cutting budget corners. I felt spoiled.
The waiter went on about crème filled éclairs, Boston cream pie, flan, and strawberry tarts. “I’ll have a strawberry thing,” I said. I couldn’t bring myself to verbalize such a haughty sounding pastry. Reese ordered an éclair.
“Strawberry thing?” Reese said in humorous disbelief.
“Well?” I said, giggling. I realized how silly ‘strawberry thing’ had sounded. The tart’s lemon-peel-infused mini-crust held strawberries suffocating in an apricot glaze. I thought it was gross, but choked it down with social grace. I did have mann
ers, unpolished, but manners nonetheless.
Reese snatched up the bill as soon as it came. “My treat,” he said. I reached for my purse. Reese crinkled his eyebrows at me. “My treat, I said.” I put my purse down.
“You didn’t—”
“I want to.” Reese paid our bill, and then drove us to the 1985 Harvard Community High School promenade.
* * *
Kate, Eric, Sarah, Brent, and Kurt saved us seats at their table. “Perfect match,” Kurt said, eyeballing Reese’s tux alongside my gown. “Imagine if you guys had tried.”
“You’ll take great pictures in the arbor.” Sarah ushered us to the photography line while checking Reese out from head to toe, nodding, impressed.
Reese stood behind me as I posed on a swing, smiling, sans braces. We sat around our table most of the night, gawking at everyone else, chattering away.
Kurt fidgeted in his seat. “Psst, Sarah,” he said. “Go ask Ashley to dance with me.”
“You go ask,” she snapped back, like he was a total reject.
“Please, please, please,” he begged, almost in pain.
Taking pity on him, she acquiesced, then returned with Ashley. “Here’s your dance partner,” she said, sitting back down, leaving Ashley standing alone. “But just one, her date’s getting lonely.”
Ashley waved a reassuring toodle across the room to some guy we’d never seen before. Kurt swallowed, sweat forming on his brow.
Eric seemed irritated, rolled his eyes, then turned his back on the rest of us, only paying attention to Kate. Moody, Sarah mouthed to me, discreetly pointing her finger toward Eric behind Brent’s back.
Kurt stood, walked to the dance floor, then turned around to see if Ashley had followed, nearly bumping into her. She smiled. They moved their arms in awkward synchronicity until they settled into an equally awkward dance hold, where Kurt then tried not to step on her feet for the duration of the song.
Love, Carry My Bags Page 4