ItMy first Homecoming dance, and I chose a strapless dress. Flat as a pancake up top, I stood at the mirror certain the bodice would end up around my waist by the second song.
But I wanted to impress the boys. My friends too, of course. So I dug two powder puffs out of my room, the really fluffy kind, and stuffed them down the front. Voilà. Boobs. Then, feeling reckless, I smeared green eyeshadow across both lids to match the dress.
My parents said nothing when I kissed them goodbye. Not one word, even about the eyeshadow. Mom’s mouth twitched at the corners, fighting something down.
The first dance was a slow one. Wouldn’t you know it. Harry, in his black suit and crisp white shirt, pulled me in and pressed his palm to the small hollow running down my back.
Even now it plays in slow motion.
Harry drawing me close.
Me wearing a smug, satisfied smile.
Our bodies met and powder erupted between us, a whole cloud of it. Harry inhaled at exactly the wrong moment and doubled over, hacking.
The room went up around me. Gasps or laughter; at fifteen I couldn’t tell the difference, and who could blame them either way? I bolted for the bathroom.
I tore the puffs out and flung them in the trash, disgusting things, while tears caked the powder on my cheeks and my knuckles dragged the green eyeshadow into wide streaks.
You see, in all my excitement I never shook them out. Besides, I liked the way they made me smell.
A friend found me at the sink and said I looked ready for Halloween, not Homecoming.
Author’s Note
I heard a similar story many years ago from a member of a women’s group I attended. I am normally not a very good journal writer (it is not a daily habit), but I wanted to remember this idea. I discovered it in one of my older journals.
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Oh geez. That's so embarassing. It'd be a great story, for sure, to tell later on in life.
ha, ha😅; oh that's funny but a brave thing to share, and a memorable date!!