incident with Missy and friends last summer when the whole gang of you were dragged to the Pointe Coupee Parish police station, it’s only natural that we would become suspicious. Your father, however, who claims some knowledge in this area, says you don’t exhibit any of the usual signs of drug abuse: you seem healthy enough, your eyes aren’t glazed, and your speech, when you speak, is coherent at least. Your father’s been wrong before, of course, but this time I sincerely hope he’s not.
Now the house is really quiet. There’s just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the low buzz of crickets coming from the yard. Other than that, the rooms stand silent, like they’ve been abandoned. A home shouldn’t be this quiet, Liz. This much quiet is unsettling; it leaves too much room for memory and imagination, for fear and dread. Every time another car rounds the corner I jerk up, thinking it might be you.
Wartime or not, high school goes on.
I didn’t go with Chip to the winter dance that year. But he didn’t give up, and by the end of the second semester I agreed to go to his senior prom with him. My friends said I was lucky he even asked me after I’d been so weird to him. And what was the big deal, anyway? It was only a dance, after all. What harm could there be in a little school prom?
Soo Chee borrowed a dress from her older sister for me. A tight, pink silk tube, it wasn’t like the dresses other SHA girls picked out at Godchaux’s, but it was sleek and flattering in an Oriental kind of way. The high-heeled shoes I got from Christy Lee, the beaded handbag from Anne Harding. The afternoon of the dance, they all came over to my room to help me get ready.
“He’ll have whiskey and try to get you drunk,” Christy Lee warned, working on my hair. “Don’t let him.”
“And don’t eat too much at dinner, no matter how good the food is,” said Soo Chee, fussing over my dress. Her mother worked as a seamstress, so Soo Chee knew how to take up the hem. “Don’t forget your toothbrush. You keep it in your handbag with your makeup. Take a handkerchief, too, so you can wipe your hands when they get sweaty. Boys hate sweaty hands.”
“Should I bring money?”
“God no. You’re the date,” said Anne. “You’re like the princess for the evening. Don’t pay for anything.”
“Make him grovel,” said Christy. “Make him beg.”
My roommate, Melissa, watched from the side of the room, fascinated. “Have you seriously never been on a date before?”
After they finished, my friends stood back to admire their handiwork. Soo Chee adjusted the dress so it fell properly. “Now you look good.”
“Stand up straight,” Anne said. “Don’t slouch.”
Christy took photos of us all, Anne cried a little, and I promised to tell them everything that happened that night. When word came that Chip had arrived and was waiting outside, my friends followed me down for more pictures. Sister Hagatha-Agatha watched us suspiciously from the door of the convent building. The school had waived the usual curfew for boarding students attending the prom, and even though a whole slew of teachers and parents would be on hand to chaperone the dance, Hagatha-Agatha made it plain she didn’t approve of this much liberty for young Catholic ladies. Chip good-naturedly made a show out of pinning on my corsage, then offering me his arm, then holding open the door of his car for me. Before climbing into the driver’s seat, he called out, “Don’t worry, Sister. I won’t let her take advantage of me!”—daring to do what none of us girls ever did, which was to try to joke with Sister Agatha. He honked the horn, and as we drove off waving goodbye from the windows I felt, if only for a moment, like we really were royalty.
• • •
Do boys and girls your age go out on dates like this anymore, Liz? I’ve only heard you talk about hanging out and hooking up, which doesn’t sound much like what Chip
Now the house is really quiet. There’s just the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the low buzz of crickets coming from the yard. Other than that, the rooms stand silent, like they’ve been abandoned. A home shouldn’t be this quiet, Liz. This much quiet is unsettling; it leaves too much room for memory and imagination, for fear and dread. Every time another car rounds the corner I jerk up, thinking it might be you.
Wartime or not, high school goes on.
I didn’t go with Chip to the winter dance that year. But he didn’t give up, and by the end of the second semester I agreed to go to his senior prom with him. My friends said I was lucky he even asked me after I’d been so weird to him. And what was the big deal, anyway? It was only a dance, after all. What harm could there be in a little school prom?
Soo Chee borrowed a dress from her older sister for me. A tight, pink silk tube, it wasn’t like the dresses other SHA girls picked out at Godchaux’s, but it was sleek and flattering in an Oriental kind of way. The high-heeled shoes I got from Christy Lee, the beaded handbag from Anne Harding. The afternoon of the dance, they all came over to my room to help me get ready.
“He’ll have whiskey and try to get you drunk,” Christy Lee warned, working on my hair. “Don’t let him.”
“And don’t eat too much at dinner, no matter how good the food is,” said Soo Chee, fussing over my dress. Her mother worked as a seamstress, so Soo Chee knew how to take up the hem. “Don’t forget your toothbrush. You keep it in your handbag with your makeup. Take a handkerchief, too, so you can wipe your hands when they get sweaty. Boys hate sweaty hands.”
“Should I bring money?”
“God no. You’re the date,” said Anne. “You’re like the princess for the evening. Don’t pay for anything.”
“Make him grovel,” said Christy. “Make him beg.”
My roommate, Melissa, watched from the side of the room, fascinated. “Have you seriously never been on a date before?”
After they finished, my friends stood back to admire their handiwork. Soo Chee adjusted the dress so it fell properly. “Now you look good.”
“Stand up straight,” Anne said. “Don’t slouch.”
Christy took photos of us all, Anne cried a little, and I promised to tell them everything that happened that night. When word came that Chip had arrived and was waiting outside, my friends followed me down for more pictures. Sister Hagatha-Agatha watched us suspiciously from the door of the convent building. The school had waived the usual curfew for boarding students attending the prom, and even though a whole slew of teachers and parents would be on hand to chaperone the dance, Hagatha-Agatha made it plain she didn’t approve of this much liberty for young Catholic ladies. Chip good-naturedly made a show out of pinning on my corsage, then offering me his arm, then holding open the door of his car for me. Before climbing into the driver’s seat, he called out, “Don’t worry, Sister. I won’t let her take advantage of me!”—daring to do what none of us girls ever did, which was to try to joke with Sister Agatha. He honked the horn, and as we drove off waving goodbye from the windows I felt, if only for a moment, like we really were royalty.
• • •
Do boys and girls your age go out on dates like this anymore, Liz? I’ve only heard you talk about hanging out and hooking up, which doesn’t sound much like what Chip
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