Prom

PROM

Ohh, I thought, I do not feel well.

My forehead was drenched in sweat. My body was wracked with pain. This was not how Prom was supposed to go.

In fact, this was not how my life was supposed to go. 

I looked around trying to spot my friends. They were out on the dance floor making fools of themselves. I smiled.

Or tried to over the pain.

I breathed in through my nose, and out through my mouth, the way they tell you to in yoga.

In … out … in … out …

I started to feel a little bit better. 

Okay, okay. Better. I got this.

The music blasted, and — for some reason — a disco ball spun, its lights sweeping and illuminating the darkened gymnasium. People on the dance floor swayed, gyrated, and twerked to the music. 

Not me. I needed to sit down. I made my way to our table. The Table of Misfit Teens is what we called it. None of us had a date, but didn’t want to miss Prom. We decided to all go together. It had seemed like a good idea. Now, not so much.

The pain started again. This time, more intense. I doubled over in agony.

Oh, dear God, help me! 

*****

We met junior year, in science class, lab partners.

“Hey,” he said.

“Hey,” I replied.

Both of us loved science. We worked well together.

“Wanna go to the game this Friday night?”

“Sure,” I said.

After the game, he walked me home. Kissed me on the porch. A long, passionate kiss.

“Want to be my girlfriend?”

“Yes!’ I said, kissing him again.

We were officially a couple.

Mickey and I went everywhere together, did everything together. We were inseparable. True teenage love.

I brought Mickey home to meet the family. Dinner was awkward, but civil.

“Mickey, what do you plan on doing after high school?” my dad wanted to know.

Mickey smiled — his smile was beautiful. 

“I’ve got my eyes set on a finance degree, then an MBA. Learn how to let my money make money.”

“Hmmm,” said my father, shaking his head, disappointed, “For the love of money is a root of all kinds of evil. Some people, eager for money have wandered from the faith and pierced themselves with many griefs.”

“Ah,” said Mickey. “Timothy 6, verse 10.” 

My mother perked right up. “Your people are church people?”

“Yes, ma’am. We attend the Baptist church in town.”

Grannie snorted. “Baptists!”

“Ohh,” said my mother, disheartened. We were Pentacostal.

“Don’t you be havin’ relations with that boy!” my mother warned me after Mickey had gone home.

“You will go to hell if you lay down with a man out of wedlock!” my Granny admonished me.

It didn’t matter. We were in love. 

At Christmas, Mickey gave me a beautiful silver box. I looked at him, my heart thudding in my chest. I gently tore the paper off, and opened the box. There, nestled in a bed of blue velvet was a beautiful silver necklace, with a heart-shaped pendent. In the bottom of the heart was a tiny diamond.

“It’s beautiful, Mickey! Thank you!”

“My heart belongs to you, Becs. Forever.”

He put the necklace around my neck, and kissed me. I thought my heart would burst. I loved him so much.

On Valentine’s day, a small box. My hands were shaking when I opened the lid. A ring.

“I know we’re too young to get married.” He slipped it on my finger. “But, Rebecca, will you marry me?”

“Yes!”

“You’re too young to be marrying!” said my father. “He didn’t even ask me!”

“He’s Baptist!” hissed my mother. “How are you going to raise your children?”

“I told you! Don’t be having relations with that boy! Why buy the cow when he’s getting the milk for free!” said Grannie. “He won’t ever marry a free milk cow!”

That summer Mickey had a job out of town, working at a lumber camp. I had a job at the Vacation Bible School my church ran. I thought my heart was going to break. We were going to be apart for the whole summer.

It was the last day of school. Exams were over, teachers didn’t really expect anyone to come to class. So we didn’t. We were free. Mickey and I packed a picnic and headed to the quarry. 

The day was hot, the water cold. It was just the two of us. Perfect. We made love for the first time on the picnic blanket under an oak tree. It was more than I had hoped. We fit together so well. I thought of what my Grannie had said. If I was going to hell, then this was well worth it.

Just once. Once without protection. You always think that it won’t happen to you. But it does.

Mickey finished his job that summer. I told him when he got back.

He smiled that amazing smile. 

“Then we’ll just have to get married sooner.”

I wept with relief.

“I love you, Mickey.”

Then Mickey died. Shot by some meth-head robbing the gas station he worked at after school. There wasn’t even any money in the till. Mickey told him that. But the shooter didn’t believe him so he shot him dead. Paramedics told me that his last words were, “Tell Becs that I’m sorry, and that she’ll be a fantastic mom. Tell her I love her."

I was devastated. 

I told no one. Not my mom, not my Grannie, not my Dad, not my friends. No one. If I gained a bit of weight, they figured I was eating my emotions. If I was tired, they assumed I was depressed. If I threw up, they assumed I was stressed.

*****

Now, I was about to give birth in the bathroom of the gymnasium at Prom. 

Oh, dear God, help me! 

KNOCK, KNOCK, KNOCK!

“Hey, Becs you okay? You've been in there for a while.”

“No. Call an ambulance before I have this baby on the toilet.

*****

I looked down at my daughter. She was perfect. She looked just like her father. His eyes, his hair, his lips. My heart ached. I missed him.

I put the necklace Mickey had given me at Christmas around her neck.

“You’re dad gave me this. Treasure it. I love you,” I said.

She smiled back up at me.

"Thanks mom. I'll treasure it."

Tonight was her Prom.