We all go to Burt’s house after the prom. Burt is the janitor at the Missionary church D’rea attends. It is also her Uncle.
“my parents know there won’t be any drinking or anything like that. Burt’s a good guy. He doesn’t mind if we hang out downstairs in his basement.
Kitty has a sports bag fraught with sweat pants and an ISU sweatshirt she will change into after prom. the entire ride to Burt's Andrea has done nothing but bitch about her heels while seated next to Strickler. I reach over and doff Kitty's shoe, calling her Cinderella, giving her foot a massage.
Andrea looks back and chuffs.
"You two," Is all she says.
***
Burt is wearing an undershirt. His belly is flopping open
like a dyslexic cummerbund. 18 months ago I was at post-homecoming hell with the rich
kids and Renee Howard and everything was a mess. There seems to be a hushed gentleness with
each of the couples in the room. Somewto watch out for drunk drivers, here I
know my mother is praying for us to be
safe, to guard us from the unerring sins of lust.
There will be no sex. No one will be spending the night. No one will be peeling the husk of each others attire off the respective limb of their three hour dancing partner in an incendiary crackle of buttons and reeled zippers. No one will be awkwardly endeavoring to enter the other person's body in maladroit thrusts and off-kilter torso's thrusts. There will be no fitting of prophylactics. No androgynous nest of clothes. No worrying if someone from the church see you checking into a hotel room.
There is only a bevy of young adults who are somehow madly attracted to each other making out, holding each other close the entire night with the lights dim, listening to a mixed-tape Andrea made for the occasion.
We are listening to a mix tape in the basement. Kitty is sitting on my lap. I cannot help making out with the dome of her forehead. She has been all my lap all night. When we reach Burt's house I insist on picking her up and carrying her the 100 meters from the parked car to the front door.
There is all smiles. In Burt the Janitor's basement our lips attack each other in fusillades and elongated embraces On the mixed-tape James Hetfield is singing about how nothing else matters.
I look down at the creature basked in my arms.
I can't help but concur.
***
Later that night I arrive home. My mom is up. It is three-thirty in the morning. She is sitting in her chair with her bible open.
"I was praying for you Dave. I just wanted to make sure you made it home okay." Mom tells me again that a lot of people get drunk on prom and then get into accidents.
"I'm real blessed you have a good group of Christian friends where you guys don't drink or anything like that."
I nod. I give her a hug and tell her goodnight while walking upstairs to my bedroom. I take my watch off and slap it down in my nightstand. I can feel kitty's breath on cheekbone. As I lie down I look at my reflection in the window overlooking Cooper.
I swear just for a moment I see the caramel translucent reflection of Megan, the girl I kissed six-weeks ago on St. Patrick's day in Chicago looking back at me.
It's like she wants me to find her again.
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