I have to tell you the truth. I’ve always had a thing for DJs. When I was 5 years old, my neighbor’s granddaughter Jennifer graduated from high school and because the party was down the road at the Ballville Township House, I got to go. So did the other neighbors, including Abby, Mindy, Mallory, Ally, and Annie–all little girls I used to hang out with. Luckily for me, Jennifer had a little brother named Matt, and oh did we all have the hots for him. We spent hours standing at the edge of my driveway watching him flip his hair out of his eyes (way before Bieber) and shooting his PopCap gun.
Matt happened to be DJing Jennifer’s graduation party, which meant that Abby, Mindy, Mallory and I were lurking around the card table off of which he was operating. We’d dance around, get him to smile at us and then race outside into the summer sun to lie in the grass on our backs and talk about what we would name our children. Against the white siding of the Township House, there were purple and yellow flowers–well, weeds–growing, and I picked tiny bouquet of them and ran back into the shade of the building one more time. Once I was in Matt’s line of sight, I crawled across the cool concrete floor until I was at the edge of the table. The white cloth draped underneath his DJ equipment swayed with summer breeze and love. I placed the mashed up flowers that I had been clutching on the corner of his table, jumped to my feet, and ran.
I was asked to be a date to a high school dance this coming Saturday.
Upon the invitation, all the old butterflies awoke, the butterflies that used to tickle my stomach when I actually was in high school. The butterflies with glitter by their eyes and Rainbow Brite on their shirts and emo-love pouring out of their little hearts.
And now, at 25 years old, I get to do it all over again. Immediately I thought of my prom dresses. My junior year, I wore a light turquoise gown with rectangular sequins scattered heavily on the neck and around the bottom of the skirt. My senior year was a black one-shoulder dress with turquoise (what was with me and turquoise?) sequin ZEBRA STRIPES. Oh yes. And since prom, I have been dying to wear either one of them again. I am happy to say that they’re both too big, but I don’t care. I want to wear my prom dress!
Sometimes when I go to my parents’ house in Fremont, I’ll go to the back corner of my mother’s closet and pull out the long plastic clothing bags, listen to the crinkle the way they did when I pulled them from the closet on the day of prom. I’ll open them up, run my fingers over the sequins that have gotten muffled in storage, and then step into the dresses. I wear them around the house. Eat lunch in them. I’m slightly ashamed to say that I’ve even gone out to get the mail in them because I just don’t want to take them off.
I have the chance again! But this is not prom. The Snow Ball is less formal. And this is not high school. I have to act like an adult. And my date is not a fellow student, but rather the DJ.
Yes, friends. My Mike–my boyfriend and my reason for being a housegirlfriend–is DJing the Snow Ball with his good friend Andy and his girlfriend. And while I tried dramatically to find a way to get Kattie to wear her prom dress with me, I think I’ve failed. I suppose we’re too old for it. And it’s not prom after all. And even though I’ll probably end up rocking my saucy red pants and a skanky dress shirt under a tasteful sweater, I’m still really excited to be going to a high school dance.
But the DJ?! I finally get my chance with Matt–well, kind of. With Mike! I get to be the DJ’s date! And I don’t even have to crawl on the floor with flower weeds in my hands to impress him.