Thursday, August 16, 2012

Love Story (2): La Noche Festiva

{Just joining us?  You can find Part 1 here}

Needless to say, my feelings toward prom were drastically improved.  My mom and I shopped like crazy to find the perfect dress (and paid way more than we should have).  My friends and I chose a restaurant.  Professor and I went for a get-to-know-you-so-prom-isn't-awkward outing and then ordered our corsage and boutonniere at the local flower shop.

When the day finally arrived, Professor pulled up to my house in a car he borrowed from his grandpa (a vast improvement over the white van he usually drove).  I peeked at him through the curtains: handsome in his tux, his hair neat, corsage in hand.  I was all butterflies when he knocked at the door.

My mom answered and called for me.  Professor stared but said nothing; later I found out he had lost his breath and was gripping the door knob behind him.  We posed for pictures for my mom then hopped in the car for pictures with at least four different groups of friends, which was all a blur.

The only things I remember leading up to the dance?  Professor having to fight my dress into the car so he could get the door shut, smiling like a crazy woman at every mother and HER mother's camera, being too excited to eat at dinner (unheard of for me), and Professor letting me know that he'd cover my hair with his jacket if it had started to rain when we headed to the car.

A true gentleman.

{I feel dated scanning a photo!  But there you have it...none of the pictures I have
is great, but I always smile when I see this one: my mom kept directing us to move
this way or that to make up for the height difference, but we were both so shy and
nervous, we ended up backing all that way up the stairs!

The dance was fun: we usually were within sight of each other, though during fast songs we often ended up socializing and moving among various circles of people.  But slow songs?  That boy found me like a magnet finds...another magnet.

Now, Professor is 6'3"; he's got a foot on me.  I couldn't keep looking up at him while we danced or I'd have become at one point I leaned my head on his chest.  And, sappy as it sounds, it was like finding the jelly to my peanut butter; we just fit together perfectly.

I asked if he wanted to duck out before the last song to beat traffic out of the parking lot (oh yes, my dad taught me well).  He glanced at me, heard a slow song start and pulled me back toward the dance floor.

Post-prom was like the dance: usually in sight of one another, sometimes within talking range and sometimes not.  Around 5AM they were ready to wrap up and hand out door prizes.  I was so tired, I let myself rest my head on Professor's shoulder...he didn't seem to mind.

Poor Professor was so tired on the drive back to my house, I asked him 1,453 questions to keep him awake.  Even exhausted I loved hearing his answers.  Little did I know it was only the beginning of hours and hours of discussion that lay ahead of us.

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