Love From Me

Dreaming of a Year 10 Formal

Mum helps me put on the dress, legs first. I stand in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection. The underdress is green, with purple flowers.

The overdress is white, and I have straps.

Mum says, "You look beautiful."

I feel really gorgeous, like a medieval lady. I have flowers in my hair, purple and white like my dress, and gold Grecian sandals on my feet.

Bracelets adorn my arms. I'm wearing make-up like I rarely do - mascara, eyeliner, blush, and so on - and it looks really good.

Dad kisses my forehead, "Go get 'em, girl."

I sit in the car, fasten my seatbelt, lock the door and I'm off to La Montage.

Someone will be waiting for me, I hope.

While I'm in the car, I sing songs from the radio. Mum stops the car and I get out. I race toward the pavilion, kids standing there, tuxedos and dresses looking a lot fancier than they usually do. I feel like Cinderella or the Black Swan, removed from my usual self for one magical night, but less evil and more seductive than the black swan.

I feel bursting with energy. A boy takes my hand and spins me onto the dance floor. I feel like Clare Danes as Juliet, meeting Romeo and being swept off my feet, only without the fish tank. He looks into my eyes, his eyes are pale blue, his hair is sandy blonde. He stares at me like I hung the stars, and my face turns red. His hand is on my back, mine on his shoulder. Our free hands curl around each other. I want to kiss him, but I restrain myself. Not yet, it's only the first dance.

My head leans upon his shoulder, and I can hear his heart beating. We part, and he looks at me. A tear runs down my cheek. I say to him, "I didn't think you'd show up, and I'd be dancing with my friends all alone."

He said to me, "Aren't you glad that I did?"

"Yes," I reply, "Remember that time in class in year 8 when you accidentally slipped your hand into mine? My god, you were so immature back then. You still are, but you've grown on me."

He sticks his tongue out, a perfect illustration, and I laugh at him. "I can see your heart beating. It's beating fast, with you holding me close."

It was like a dream come true, swaying in his arms. I felt like bursting into a song about sunshine and rainbows and birds, like a Disney princess.

The premonition of social shame stopped me. Maybe something by Katy Perry or Taylor Swift would be better. Or dissolving into a spray of diamonds and butterflies.

I felt a tingling sensation in my back, where his hand touched me. I felt like I was about to faint. His eyes gripped mine, anchoring me to reality.

His arms held me up, as I recovered. He told me that I was the most beautiful woman in sight. My hands shook, and my face flushed.

"Thank you for coming to the formal with me," he said. "Remember that time in year nine, when I kissed you in the theatrette, behind the back curtain."

I laughed, remembering well. "Then the teacher found us, and you jumped away so fast that you fell into the costume rack. You came up wearing a pirate hat and a feather boa."

He grinned, "I'm still getting jokes from my friends about being Captain Hook in drag. At least I didn't fall into the make-up supplies."

I chuckled, "Or that time in Art when you were my muse. It's a pity the teacher wouldn't let us do nude modeling. It's totally a valid form of Classical Art."

"Like when we watched Titanic in History. I was thinking about you as Rose. Can you do Irish Dancing?"

"I can try. Don't be surprised if I fall over and take you down with me."

"I'd like to try it, but we'd need the music. Or maybe just people clapping."

This was one of the things I loved about him; the way we could talk about anything and everything without feeling stupid. Looking back, I was almost surprised at how many moments we had together. I felt like Veronica Franco, powerful in a way that so many could never grasp, but she could.

The way that she made her lovers feel like the only person in the world, treasured and valued, though their time was only ever fleeting. Or Venus, the incarnation of beauty and love, desired by all. She hung in the stars, and I felt like I danced there beside her.

I felt stupid, thinking about Greek Mythology, too much reading of Percy Jackson. It was embarrassing, even if I did love Percy Jackson almost as much as my boyfriend I forced those thoughts away and focused on dancing.

Perhaps, like Veronica and Marco, our time together was also limited, doomed to end, but for now, for this one night, it was all that mattered.

My head spun, and I leaned forward and kissed him. My hair fell down around me.

It was a perfect Formal. A perfect night.

The end.