I wrote about prom a month or so ago. I wrote about how I’d rather go and be disappointed than to not go and always wonder what I missed. Well, I went. I wasn’t disappointed, but I definitely was surprised.
I’ll spare you the sad stories of unfulfilled proms-passed and we’ll just say that it’s never been great. But I’ve already come to the conclusion that a night like prom can’t possibly be the perfect night you’d imagine it to be unless you’re just…stupid. (Oh goodness, a certain cynical someone is getting to me.)
Anyway. I woke up yesterday morning like a little girl on Christmas, if you can believe. I’m really surprised by how excited I was. It’s just because everything finally seemed just right: now that everything is in place I can finally have that night.
I spent the whole day getting ready. Naps and snacks all morning, hair appointment at one-thirty, more napping, and finally my make-up. (On a side note, I was super excited about the make-up because I’ve never been particularly good at it, and I got to pick out and do it all by myself. Like a big girl.) I told my boyfriend that the getting-ready tends to be the best part of the night because every little thing you do is pregnant with anticipation and expectations, like there’s magic dusted into every cream and powder you smear on yourself.
And then it was time to go, and my hair was done perfectly, as was my make-up, my (borrowed) dress felt perfect, and my bag was packed with everything I’d need for the rest of the night.
Skip the pictures and the dinner. They’re usual.
It was really hot inside the actual dance. When I got to dancing with my friends, I felt my hair bouncing out of the bobby pins that held it in place. I felt the long, perfect dress stick to my legs with perspiration and I felt that same sweat beading on my face, undoubtedly destroying all that hard work I had put into making it perfect.
Ironic, isn’t it? Because by the end of the night, I didn’t care about that perfection. I’ll admit that I kind of mourned it. But what I wanted more than anything was to take a shower and wash all that expensive perfection down the drain.
It’s so rare when your expectations actually match up to reality. My night wasn’t what I expected it to be. It wasn’t bad. It wasn’t the best night of my life either. But there were definitely little moments: riding down the highway with my hands stretched out of the sun roof, singing to songs that we both love, walking along a historic road alone at night, and staring up at the panoramic night sky as I drift between sleep and wakefulness. I tried to capture the beauty, but pictures couldn’t capture the magnitude of these picturesque moments that I found myself in. Here’s what I’ve got:
The air was moist and humid, like summer. I could hear the water bubbling in the pool and cicadas buzzing. There was a slight breeze. I was safe under a canopy of leaves but the stars twinkled beyond them, contrasting with the deep blue. The clouds moved quickly, unnaturally quickly. Was it evidence of a rapidly changing weather system, or was the earth moving faster than usual tonight, causing the clouds to look like they were flying by? The stars stayed where they were, but I could feel it: fleeting. I must have drifted off, because the deck chair was soft and the blanket was warm, but an hour or so later the stars were gone. The sky was a pale blue and birds were singing in the trees all around me when I awoke.
There was actually a point to this. I can’t remember what it is now, exactly. But there is one. Or, there was one. I’ll get to it eventually. It’s been a very long two days. And it’s about twenty four hours past my bedtime.
Look at the stars, look how they shine for you and everything you do. And they were all yellow.