THE PROM Myriam Bujanda It was evident to me that I would probably not go to the prom. But by mid-March, through some inexplicable miracle, I had a boyfriend. Not only that, he was ten years my senior. So, my mother and I began shopping for the prom dress. At the store, I tried on every conceivable gown within the budget I had set for myself. I was determined not to have a “little girls dress”, or some high-collared long sleeve dress that yelled “I’m the maid of honor”. Then, from all the colors and fabrics on the rack, I caught a glimpse of black lace. This appealed to me, so I searched through the garments, until I found the dress. It wrapped around my body forming a “V” in the front. A lace pattern covered the back with black embroidered flowers, curving gently on the stems and leaves of the thick, glossy thread. The dress had long sleeves and it was floor length. It had a slinky, silky feel. At seventeen, my body was well formed, and my 34B breasts revealed substantial cleavage –maybe too much. I came out of the dressing room, for my mother to see. Looking aghast, she contained her fright and asked “¿Te gusta?” “Sí”, I answered, and immediately mentioned concern about the cleavage. She suggested we could put a small safety pin. This meant there was tacit agreement on the dress. This was the non-direct communication my mother and I always had. I never looked for her to say, "yes, lets buy this dress" or "yes, let us do this". The words never came out that way. But somewhere in her phrases I would catch whether there was approval, or not. I was very pleased that she had agreed, as I felt that this was a grown-up dress, one that I could look sophisticated in, with my 28 year-old escort, to a high school prom. The day of the prom arrived, and George was to pick me up for dinner with some friends. He had a '58 Chevrolet, deep sky-blue exterior, with shiny chrome and perfectly waxed body. The interior was plush velvet, the sea blue color on the dashboard, on the inside of the doors, and the vinyl blue seats shiny. It was a well taken care of low rider. In the excitement of the dance, I don't recall the dinner, except that I didn’t eat much. I just remember my classmates sending glances my way, incredulous that I had come to the prom, and had a boyfriend who was older than we were. The dance was at the high school gym, a new building with no windows and dimly lit interiors. Upon entering the gym, the confidence I built during dinner suddenly crumbled. The dance floor was full, the music blared and I realized I would have to dance. This was the part of the prom that I had not given careful consideration to, and I had hoped George would not ask me to dance. Though I liked George, I dreaded the idea of his body against mine. Of course, he asked me to dance. We stepped onto the dance floor as a slow song played. George wrapped his arm around my waist –quite close I thought, and placed the other arm around my shoulders. He placed his cheek next to mine, and pressed up against me. I stiffened, and he relaxed his grip a little. After awhile though, I told him I [was thirsty] needed a drink. We stepped away from the dance floor, and he went to the table where the soft drinks were being sold. He brought two perspiring, cardboard waxed cups and gave me one. I took a sip and immediately made a face. "Dr. Pepper is all they had," he said, knowing I did not like this soft drink. I continued sipping it as it gave me something to do. We watched others dance and I began to hear the jingling of coins that George had in his trouser pockets. The few friends I had were on the dance floor, and we had no one to hang around with at the sidelines. The coins danced to their own beat, and George was staring at the corner of the gym closest to the exit. "Would you like to leave?" I practically yelled at his ear, so he could hear above the music. "Do you mind if we do?" he yelled back. I nodded "no", and he held my elbow as we begin to exit the gym turned into dance room. Through the gym doors, to a quieter school hall where he took our soggy soft drink glasses and dumped them. “Are you hungry? We could stop by and get something to eat” he stated as we drove away from the school. “No, it isn’t necessary” I said. On our way home, we passed by Ascarate Lake. The man-made lake in our dessert city had a golf course and a long curvy road that went around the lake. On weekend nights, this road was bumper to bumper, as cars from all over the city came to cruise here. "Why don't we cruise awhile?" he said, as he was already making the turn off Delta Street and onto the road toward the lake. I had never been cruising with a man before. My friends and I went to the lake once. We laughed the whole trip through, because we knew that we couldn't look as sophisticated as the low-riders in a big ten-seater white van. As the road curved along the lake, it forked to another road that led to the golf course. This lane was not bumper to bumper, but there were just as many cars parked off the dark, lonely road. Sometimes one could see the silhouette of a head or two inside the cars; sometimes it appeared that no one was there. We drive through lovers’ lane in silence, and at the very end as it was merging back onto the main road, he reached to hold my hand and softly whispered "Can we park here for awhile?" This area was lit, and we are the edge of the lake. I reluctantly nodded "yes", but felt a knot in my stomach. We contemplate the beauty of the lake, and sat for a moment. As we talked, he lightly wrapped his arm around my shoulder. I stiffened, and he rubbed my shoulder a bit, as if to say it is alright. He touched my chin gently, turning my head toward him. My heart raced, as he [moved] to kiss me. It felt nice but confusion set in as unpleasant feelings surged from my past. Then, the kiss changed, somehow there was an urgency and the kiss no longer felt the same. My breathing seemed out of control, my stomach ached and I pushed him away. Before he could do or say anything, I announced "It is too hot in here, I don't feel well, and I can't breathe!" “You are right” he said, “why don’t we take a walk?” He got out, and walked around the front of the car. I sat there, suddenly feeling this tremendous headache, suffocating and just needing to get out. “ I can’t breathe! ” I shouted as I opened the door, but it was too late, at that very moment my stomach crunched inward, an incredible pressure exploded, and traveled along my throat. I hurled out the explosion onto his crushed velvet dashboard and door. My head now hung over the seat, facing the pavement. He touched my shoulder as he looked for his handkerchief while the acrid smell enveloped us. I gasped for air, as I sat up. "I should not have drank that Dr. Pepper, it made me sick" I said. This somehow justified the predicament, and gave me something to blame. George in the meantime retrieved a towel from the trunk, and was hurriedly cleaning around my feet, the dashboard and side of the door. His classic '58, custom interior crushed velvet taking the brunt of a Prom night mishap. "It is not a problem", he said, in the cheeriest voice he could muster; this from a man who spent endless hours with a chamois cloth waxing a sky-blue shiny coat until it surpassed the beauty of nature's own sky. After cleaning up as best as he could, he started the car. An uncomfortable silence reigned as we headed to my home. Still feeling weak, and embarrassed, I could not ignore the smell. I volunteered to help clean the car, but he said he would do it- that night no doubt. Upon arriving home, he dutifully walked me to the door. He pecked my forehead, and said he would call tomorrow. I just wanted to sleep. In the morning I awoke with the dread of last evening’s events gnawing at me. I heard my siblings stirring. My two sisters and I shared a sofabed; living room by day, turned-bedroom by night. My brothers had a small bedroom adjacent to the living room. It was usual for us to lay in our beds, and carry on a conversation between rooms. My oldest brother asked how the prom had turned out. I related to them my mishap. "Oh my gaaaawd" my sister gasped. My brothers, still lying in their bunk beds laughed and yelled "You're gonna get dumped!" I lay there thinking: What was going to happen now? Would George ever see me again after vomiting and ruining his beautiful crushed velvet interior? Suddenly, a knock on the front door interrupted my thoughts. Only a few feet away, I looked to see who was visiting at mid-morning. I opened the door to find a delivery man standing behind a beautiful spring bouquet. It is not mother's day, I thought. "Miryam Bujanda?" he asked. "Yes" I responded. "For you" he stated as he brought the bouquet forward. In awe, I took the bouquet, the first I had ever received. Then I saw a card, attached on the side. I slowly opened the envelope. The card read: Hope you are feeling better. * LATINO ARTISTS ROUND TABLE