At Junior Prom.
She was there, as she had dragged me there, and she had a date. It was that one, the overly everything one. The atmosphere was colored blue, the balloons were too. The cafeteria was hardly different, there were still chairs stacked in the corner in an accepted haphazard manner. I watched the twirling lights, sparkling too many times off of the omniscient sequins and atmospherically there glitter. My hand was clamped onto my reticule; it made me feel like a lady, in a sea of teenagers. The smells of people and new dresses and rented clothing were forced into my nose by the drifting air. I was next to mine, the one she picked and bribed me to agree to. We hardly matched – me and him. I think our mutual dislike of the surroundings we found ourselves in made us look like we fit together in the sea of others. We stood there, the four of us, with the one over-the-top being completely average for a change. Still, it frightened me, so I clamped on harder, before realizing what I was clamped to. The lucky recipient of my strongly shaking grip was my date. Poor miserable old chap had me clamped to his arm with the vigor of a house cat run up a telephone pole in a hurricane. I scooted closer finding no adverse-direction leaning evident in the posture of my good friend the telephone pole. I felt so complete, so warm, through and through. His arm was my anchor and I was awash at sea. He was keeping me warm, like my favorite teddy bear. There was nothing I would change with the two of us captives. They were all so – overly. “L.I.F.E.G.O.E.S.O.N.,” We chanted to the tune, after some passing of time, by the plastic chairs now. The lights flirted with the glitter and my teeth showed, puffing out my cheeks. The others swayed to the downs with me, one unifier in all of this mess.