Please enjoy Part Two of FIRST LOVE.
Prom this
At a young age
SUBJECT form...formality...forever
A hot Spring day with low humidity made Keegan appreciate the warmth as
he and Cathy entered the fabric shop.
Unlike those gals who want to surprise their escorts, Cathy wanted
Keegan to partake.
“What about this?” she asked, pointing out a bolt of something soft and
colorless. He thought she called it
blush.
“Nice. Sets off your
complexion,” he said lamely. The store
and its contents were as alien as a foray into the deepest jungles of the
Amazon. He connected to nothing, yet
knew she thought it important.
Again, unlike those buying gowns, Cathy was making hers, having a
talent for sewing and a kinship to fashion.
Not in the sense of the modern and costly, but in the certainty form and
flow over her perfectly proportioned body.
Then again, to Keegan, she looked good in old socks, battered jeans and
torn t-shirt, what she had worn when they cleaned out her handicapped aunt’s
attic.
It didn’t matter what Cathy wore, if make-up adorned her animated oval
face, nor was it relevant if she sported a flawless hair style. Cathy’s perfection resided in her essence,
her thoughts, how she communicated, and the way she laughed, bright, brilliant,
loud without restrain. Keegan failed to
communicate any of that, but the sentiment was there nuzzled beneath the
surface of his heart.
Perusing various shops Cathy was unable to find it. “I know the dress. It’s as if the fabric exists only in my
mind.”
Silently he drove. He just
obtained his license, and contradictory to the typical teen mentality of wild,
his father instilled in him an observance to safety. “I need to stop at Gram’s. Do you mind?”
“Sure?”
"Huh?"
“Sure,” she grinned, that winsome grin he adored.
Once at his Gram’s, Cathy began to natter-on about her dress. "I can't find the fabric."
“Wait here,” the elderly woman said, her step quick and her tone
bright. She returned a moment later,
carrying a bolt of fabric. Even Keegan
recognized the beauty of it.
"Chiffon." Its pale
blue hue immediately complimented the color of Cathy’s eyes.
"It’s gorgeous,” she said in a hushed, reverent tone.
“Bought it to make a dress when my husband returned from the war. It’s yours.”
Cathy hesitated, as if she dare not touch something so exquisite and
then she reached for it, held it reverently against her. “Thank you.
I love it,” she said, sensing its import. Her own Nana was like that, depression babies
squirreled away everything.
Two weeks later, prom night, in her foyer he watched her descend the
stairs. That instant he understood
beauty. The gown had a princess look to
it, layers that flowed from the waist down, billowing, granting the illusion of
floating. A snug bodice formed her
breasts' fullness highlighting tightness of her waist. It was a timeless look, a forever moment, one
that he knew would linger when age was his partner.
“You look… beautiful,” he managed.
“The dress is…,” he didn’t have the words.
She smiled. “I made it for you.”
Her words gifted him, startled, honored, and he realized a moment was
unique. What he didn’t know was this was
the first and last prom he’d ever attend.
TO BE CONTINUED
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