AS GREEN AS THEY COME

I stare at the slab of green fabric facing me.  The dress is one of those “one shoulder” designs, having one strapless side, and the other with a short sleeve, barely covering my enter shoulder.  A black patent leather belt with a large green flower resembling a rose wraps around its high waist.  It is shiny, covered with glowing patches where the light hits the material.  Its knee-length pencil skirt causes my thin legs to stick out like tree branches.  I smile back at my reflection in the mirror, feeling like a green goddess. 

“Soooooooo eighties” says Bethany, as I exit the dressing room and spin around.  She is standing a few feet away, cell phone in hand, noisily gnawing on her gum.  “Whatever” I respond back, giggling.  I look at myself in the larger mirror outside the dressing room, and realize that Bethany is right; it is pure eighties, but I don’t care.  This dress, it will make me someone at prom.  I won’t just be the youngster, the joke that Billy Bradley is taking with him.  I will be that girl, the girl in that dress.

I see Bethany behind me in my reflection in the mirror, wobbling slightly in her wooden wedge heels. Her blond bangs cover her greasy, acne-covered forehead.  As she walks, she grips the ends of her white lace sundress, much too short for a girl of fourteen, and licks her fire engine red lips.  “Holy shit, Natalie, you CANNOT go in that.”  “Oh yes I can, and yes I will,” I reply back smugly.  I walk up and down the hallway of the dressing room, on tip toes, pretending I’m donning 4-inch stilettos, green to match, of course, and do a slow spin for Bethany.  She laughs, and then her laugh turns into a cough as she chokes on her saliva, revealing that she is only human, and not the body of awesomeness every girl our age imagines herself to be.  I ignore the wetness in her laugh, and say “It’s over the top, I know.  But I think it’s just what I need.  This will help me make my mark.”  Bethany and I look at each other and laugh at the ridiculousness of the green monster hanging around me.  “So you’re gonna get it then?” she asks accusingly.  “I think I just might” I retort, letting out a nervous giggle as the risk I’m taking truly hits me.

I return to the dressing room.  I unzip the dress, carefully taking it off, making sure not to cause any tears or loose threads.   I slip back on my light blue knit sweater that reveals my thin waist and flat midsection, and look at my reflection in the dressing room mirror.  I step into my white denim shorts, so short that the front pockets stick out from under them.  I smile back at myself, staring into my green eyes as I pull my light brown hair into a messy ponytail.  I admire my long legs and my thin, teenaged figure.  I am thirteen, small, scrawny, but what I see in the mirror, that is pure cool.

Bill Bradley had asked me to prom the previous week.  He knew I liked him; hell, everyone did.  I suppose I asked for it to be known, with all of my Facebook posts on his wall.  I had commented on pretty much every one of his 1,598 pictures, and left smiley face and heart emoticons under almost everything he posted.  Coyness has never been my specialty.  I guess I always figured that if I have something to say, say it; and if Facebook gives me a way to say it even more, then why not.  So, he knew I liked him, and when he and his long-term girlfriend of 11 months, Susanna, broke up just two weeks before prom, I suppose I was an easy alternative.

Before the prom invitation, I would often spend long nights on the phone with Bethany, my bff, speculating about Bill; if he and Susanna would ever break up, if he could possibly be interested in me.  I would stand in front of the mirror each morning after my shower, naked, and wonder what Bill would see if he were staring back at me.  Would he laugh at my small, still-developing breasts?  Or would he want to touch them, and touch me all over?   I would fantasize about his hands on my body, new sexuality brewing in me, and feel a tingly sensation between my legs as I pictured him touching me there.  Later, as I applied my daily makeup, I would look at my skin for blemishes, for any signs of acne, anxious at the idea of my clear, fair skin being tarnished, and if Bill would even consider dating someone with such imperfections.  I would apply foundation, eyeliner, mascara, pulling at my eyelids, hoping to find in them a beauty that could allure Bill, and make him realize that I was more than a litany of Facebook posts.

And now, as I take out my mother’s credit card to purchase the green dress, I feel my heart race a little, excitement dancing through my veins as the cashier slides the dress into the white plastic bag.  I know this dress is a risk, but I don’t care.  I have visions of people laughing, sneering at me; the junior girls whispering “What is with that dress?” and what they will write about me and it on Facebook.  My more optimistic self sees them looking at me in approval, admiring the guts of a thirteen-year-old nobody.  I picture Bill looking around at everyone, smirking, as if saying “Yeah, she is my date, and she’s got balls!” 

Bethany and I walk out of the store together.  “Starbucks?” she asks, as we walk toward the huge logo on the other side of the mall. “Um, yah!” I utter back.  We order our drinks, Bethany sipping on her Carmel Macchiato and me and my Vanilla Frappuccino.  She takes a sip, looking up at me and saying “So, are you feeling ready for tomorrow night?” I smile at her and say “Yeah, I think so…after we get the shoes, I’ll be good to go!  My mom’s set up hair and nails for tomorrow after school.  I think everything will work out just fine.” Bethany smiles at me, rolling her eyes “I meeeeean,” she says, “Are you ready to face the juniors…and Susana?”  “Oh I dunno, Bethy” I say, using her childhood nickname to reveal how unsure I feel.  “I mean, I’m hoping there will be no trouble….but I’m going in there an open target.  Especially with Susanna, I can’t imagine she’ll be happy to see me there.”  Bethany looks up from her drink with sympathetic eyes, “I know what you mean…I’d be so nervous in your shoes…I’d be seriously freaking out.”  “For sure” I say back with a sigh,” anxiety slowing settling over me.  I take a breath, throwing an imaginary blanket over my nerves, and say with as much feigned confidence as I can muster up, “But I’m going to rock it.” 

Bethany and I go to Macy’s, and I instantly find the stilettos I’d been envisioning.  After that, I head home, promising to call Bethany later.  I skip in the front door, eager to show my mom the dress.  I regale my parents with stories of my afternoon mall trip as we eat dinner.  After dinner, I go up to my room and slip on my green ensemble, shoes and all.  I carefully walk downstairs to the living room.  My mom is seated on the couch, iPad in lap, my dad motionless next to her, staring at the TV.  I yell “Ta da” as I shimmy in front of them.  I twirl around, feeling a huge grin take over my face.  The green fabric surrounds me, giving me a sense of sophistication that I’ve never felt, making me feel grown up in front of my parents.  My mother looks back at me and smiles.  The look on her face instantly reveals that she hates the dress.  My dad briefly glances up from the TV and gives me a small grin, his disinterest in me and the dress evident.  I look back at my mom and I pretend to believe her as she says “Oh sweetie, it’s gorgeous.”  I embrace her lie, allowing it to give me the confidence I need to move forward.

I call Bethany later that nights; she listens to my incessant, contradictory flow of excitement, worry, confidence, and concern, as I talk about the upcoming evening.  She addresses my doubts, telling me “You’ll be great, Bill will be so happy to have had you as his date when the night is over!”  She boosts my confidence, saying “That dress is gorgeous, you are going to knock all of those juniors dead with it, Bill especially.”  I hang up the phone saying I’ll see her tomorrow, my voice raspy from all of the chatter.  I turn off the lamp on my nightstand, pull the covers up, and rest my head on my pillow.  I snuggle into my snail-like slumber position, knowing that sleep will not come easily, as exhilaration and angst begin a tug-of-war in my mind. 

Eventually, I must fall asleep, because my alarm is going off.  I grab my cell phone, turning off the alarm, and check Facebook immediately.  There are a few comments about math homework and the big day on Bill’s wall, but other than that, nothing.  I check Susanna’s wall as well…limited access, since she has not friended me…but I can see enough.  Nothing of significance is there.  I get up, getting ready for my half day at school; I will leave early to get hair and makeup done, an afternoon of pampering to prepare me for the big evening.

The school day breezes by, as if it were any other day.  No one in my classes is going to prom, so for them, it is just any other Friday.  I listen to my classmates’ chatter of plans of the weekend, new apps coming out, funny YouTube videos.  I sit at my desk and float through the school day, counting the minutes until I can leave.

I seek Bill out between classes, eager to tell him how much I’m looking forward to the evening, how excited I am to see him, how much fun I think we’re going to have.  I see him at one point in the hall; he is chatting with one of his basketball teammates, and I feel too nervous to interrupt him.  This shyness, it is unlike me; I feel my lively, chatty personality slipping away, unease taking over me.  My green dress and its potential impact linger in my mind, dangling fire above my head.  Finally, it is noon, and I can leave.

My mother and I spend the afternoon in the salon; Bethany’s mother wouldn’t let her leave school early, as she is not going to prom, so it is just me and my mother going through the pampering festivities.  I sit at the salon, a middle-aged Korean woman scrubbing my fingernails with a foul smelling chemical, and feel completely frozen with excitement.  My mother sits by my side and tries to get me to “open up,” asking me “Natalie, are you okay?  This is a big day, and I can’t even imagine how you’re feeling.”  “I’m fine,” I retort,” although I know she will not believe me.   

I finish my preparations at the salon, and my mother and I head home.  There, she applies my makeup; I had wanted to get it done at the counter at the mall, but she insisted that this was the better choice.  My mother smiles proudly as she brushes the blush across my cheeks.   “I’m so excited for you” she says.  “Me too” I say back uncertainly. 

A half hour before I’m supposed to leave, Bethany calls me.  With her, I finally am able to speak freely.  “Naaaaty” she says, “This is it!  Are you ready?  Why haven’t you texted me a pic yet?”  I take a selfie in the mirror and send it to her quickly.  I then chatter with her briefly about the details of my hair and makeup, and then tell her I have to go get dressed, promising her to send her a pic of me in my green monster.  I glare at my green eighties ensemble, freshly pressed, hanging atop my closet door. I take it down, staring at its brightness, and feel the excitement run through my veins.  “I am going to prom” I whisper, as if speaking to my dress.  “Tonight is my night.”

At 8 o’clock, I hear Bill pulling up to my driveway.  I am downstairs, posing for pictures in front of my mom, who holds the camera like a trophy as she takes shot after shot.  I hear Bill approaching the front door, his dress shoes clattering as he gets closer.  My heart jumps as the doorbell rings, not once, but twice in a row.  My mom looks at me, and I whisper “You!” gesturing for her to answer the door.  Bill says hello to my mother, and she invites him in.  I feel self-conscious, wondering what Bill will think of me, my home, and most importantly, my dress.  He walks in, dressed in a black tuxedo which hugs his tall, bulky frame, perhaps a bit too tightly.  His brown, curly hair falls over around his face, and he pushes it back behind his ears as he enters.  Looking at Bill, I know that objectively, he is dorky as can be; but at Hickmont High, Bill represents the shit.  Bill is athletic, Bill is funny, Bill is admired by all the juniors and underclassman.  Bill stops walking when he sees me, and looks down quickly, smiling slightly.  “You look lovely,” he says quietly with a cough.  I feel redness come over me, fully aware that Bill is holding back laughter, but I choose to ignore it, patting down the creases in my dress, smiling big as I respond enthusiastically “Thanks!”

My mother proceeds to take picture after picture of Bill and me, arranging us in different poses.  He puts his arm around me awkwardly, trying not to let the skin of his hand make contact with my bare shoulder.  I brush off the awkwardness, putting on my best model face for each photo, as the discomfort hovers over Bill and me, like a rain cloud waiting to explode.

Finally, we leave.  Bill fumbles with the passenger-side door of his black Mustang, showing chivalry and clumsiness at the same time. I climb in, waving goodbye to my mother who stands next to my father, whose face is covered with an insincere look of pride, as my mother furiously waves goodbye.  We pull out of the driveway, and are on our way to the school.

I make efforts at small talk during our eight minute drive to Hickmont High.  Bill responds with short, empty answers.  When we finally arrive at the school, I comment on all of the balloons decorating the outside entrance, just for us. Bill put on a half-assed smile, muttering “Yup, they’re great…nice dress.” 

As we walk toward the entrance, I become aware of the severity of my dress choice.  What will the other girls say?  What will they think?  Will they laugh at me?  Will they dump pigs blood on me, like in that scary movie I had watched with my mom?  I reach my arm out toward Bill, attempting to link it through his, as couples do, for our big entrance, but he is walking too fast, and keeping up with him in my green giant shoes is difficult enough.  He pauses when we get to the open doors to the cafeteria, realizing he should wait for me.  I take a deep breath as I rush to be by his side, and we walk in.

The cafeteria is filled with juniors.  There must be 100 people there already. I find my head facing the floor, scared to make eye contact with anyone, as we walk to pick up our table numbers.  We find our number, 12, then walk to the table.  As we make our way through the cafeteria, I see junior girls looking up, smirking at me, whispering to each other as they make no attempt to hide their stares.  I feel myself flush, but continue to stand tall, with Bill by my side.  We arrive at our table, where three other couples are seated.  All of them are juniors, and I know none of them on a first name basis.  Bill slaps hands with each of the guys at the table, and nods at the ladies.  He then begins loudly talk about some sports game, failing to introduce me to anyone.

As the night goes on, and we receive our food, Bill continues to chatter on with the others at our table.  He addresses me periodically with a small nod or a “Good, huh?” to comment on the food, checking on me as if I were his shoes lace, and he’s making sure I’m still tied at his feet.  I attempt to make small talk with the other girls, but they want nothing to do with me.  I get up to go to the bathroom at some point, and I feel the eyes of the junior girls scrutinizing me as I walk toward the bathroom.  In the ladies room, I look in the mirror at myself in my green dress.  The bright green stares back at me.  I stand up straight, forcing myself to admire the dress.  I think of the jeers of the junior girls, and smile at myself, feeling self-importance brew inside of me at the thought of them noticing me, taking the time to talk about me.  I was someone. 

I go back to the table, and our plates are cleared.  People begin to dance, and surprisingly, Bill asks me to the dance floor.  We dance awkwardly for a few songs.  I again try to make conversation with him, but he answers me as if my comments are senseless, unnecessary, and he stares around at the other couples dancing.  At one point I feel tears brewing, a thickness in the back of my throat forming, but I push it away.  I look down at my green shoes, my feet throbbing, and continue to move my hips, dancing as if my life depended on it.

When a slow song finally comes on, Bill says he has to use the restroom, so I sit down.  I look out at all of the couples dancing, cheek to cheek, swaying along in sync with the music.  I push away the sadness and disappointment that threaten me as I sit in isolation at the dirty table, and remember how the junior girls watched me in my green dress.

What seems like hours later, the night finally comes to an end.  Bill continues to chat with his friends, making plans for an after party.  He doesn’t invite me, telling his friends that he has to drop me off, and will hook up with them later.  I stand up, green twinkle surrounding me, and Bill and I exit the cafeteria.  As we are exiting, we walk past Susanna, who touches Bill’s arm ever so slightly “See you at Charlie’s later?” she says with a smile.  “Sure will” Bill quietly says back, his words saturated with a flirtatious undertone.

We leave the school.  Bill doesn’t even bother to open the passenger door this time.  I let myself in, and we ride home in silence.  I think about the evening, about what a drag it was.  Nonetheless, I feel content, as I slide my hands over my legs hugged in green silk.  I tell Bill that I had a lovely time as he pulls into my driveway.  He looks at me incredulously, fully aware of the rudeness of his behavior, and manages a, “Yeah, me too.”  He says goodbye, not stepping out to walk me to the door, and I leave and head toward my house.

When I get in, I tell my mom that it was great, that I am tired, and will fill her in with details tomorrow.  She accepts this begrudgingly, allowing me to head upstairs to my room.  I enter my room, and am faced with myself again in my full length mirror.  My green monster, my risk, my success.  My memories of the evening do not include Bill’s shunning me, being ignored by others, disregarded like a speck of dust.  I look back at my dress, and see its beauty, its uniqueness, and what it made me.  I was noticed, I was someone.  I smiled upon remembering the girls’ whispers and stares; I was not the invisible thirteen-year-old at prom;I was significant, I was worthy of their words, I was the green sparkle in a room of darkness.

I unzip the side of the dress and pull it down over me, letting it drop to the floor.  I slip on my oversized sleeping shirt and hop into my bed.  I am too exhausted to check Facebook, although I feel a sense of jubilation as I think about the countless likes, smiley faces, and comments that my dress and I are likely receiving.  I close my eyes, letting teenage ignorance dance freely around me in the darkness, warming my soul as I fall into a soothing sleep.