Circle 250: Chapter 3: Charlotte: What a pretty girl.

Circle 250: Chapter 3: Charlotte: What a pretty girl.

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In the weeks that followed Kevin and I saw a lot of each other. It was very shortly after that first date, that we were an official couple; I had his leather football jacket to prove it. I used to strut so proudly down the halls of the school wearing. Everybody who saw me in it knew what it meant. I was ‘cool’ and a member of the ‘in crowd’. Were it not enough, I sat every lunch with Tammy and Claire and several other older kids. The conversation at the table was divided across gender lines. The girls would discuss make up, and the latest popular stars. The guys would discuss sports and their cars. The conversation still lacked any and all interest. A few times I remember trying to discuss some things that I had learned in class. I was actually an ‘A’ student, which was somewhat of a rarity for my current company. I received only forced smiles and weak attention and the conversation quickly returned to its usual banal caliber.

But I wasn’t there for the conversation. I was there to sit with my boyfriend and his friends. I typically kept quiet and just basked in rays of my new found popularity. The feeling of inclusion was the real selling point for these groups. Whenever I arrived in the lunchroom, I always had a seat reserved for me, and whenever I felt to go out, Kevin and his friends were just a phone call away. I was pleased to return the favour. If I ever arrived early for lunch, I reserved a table for our group. When people alien to our group tried to sit there, I would tell them confidently, but politely, that the table is reserved; even if I was the only who was sitting there. It got to a point where I even refused admittance to some of my oldest friends from grade school. I felt badly, but what was I to do? They just weren’t in.

Dating Kevin was just so easy, and it had so many perks. For one thing, my father absolutely loved him. From the very first time I brought him over to the house for dinner, I knew it was a match made in heaven: for my father and Kevin, just as much as it was for me. My father always grasped Kevin’s hand firmly and shook it as though it belonged to one of his longest and dearest friends. My mother always said “hello” politely, yet more cautiously. It was as though Kevin and my father had known each other previously and in a sense they had. My father had read of Kevin’s football successes in the local paper. My father, himself a track and field star in his high school days, related to Kevin well. Kevin’s father was one of our towns most respected and wealthiest members (my father didn’t do that badly himself). Kevin was accepted into our home just like a fresh coat of paint. He lightened the our mood, and his presence could be felt everywhere. I always left his jacket strewn over the banister, and my father even began hanging his football articles from the paper on the walls of his office.

The crown jewel of my new found popularity was the invitation to the senior prom. This was Kevin’s final year. One could examine this logically where my being his girlfriend would entail and invitation to the prom. I examined it more romantically. I was one of a very few select grade ten girls who would be in attendance. Not only did I get to attend, which is a privilege in and of itself, I would be attending with the most popular guy in high school. I began preparing a solid month before hand. My mother and I went shopping for a prom dress two weeks beforehand. It was a bonding moment for the two of us.

I tried on dress after dress. This one pink, no too dainty. This one black, no too grim. Finally I tried on a powder blue dress which fit me just perfectly right off the rack (I could get away with things like this at that age). I looked at myself in the three way mirror, with my mother looking right over my shoulder. I did a little flourish to see how the dress moved when dancing. It moved like silk. Finally I stood still, my blond hair, and blue eyes shining in pride. The dress had a v-necked front which tastefully revealed a little of my cleavage and laced up in the back. You could still see my back in the between the gaps in the lacing. It was a very special moment when my mother softly said,

“What a pretty girl I have.” She said it so softly that it was barely audible, yet to the self conscious ears of a sixteen year old, it sounded loudly. It was the first time she had ever said anything like that to me. I suppose that she had fear that exalting my beauty would lead me to having a swelled head. This one time though, she just couldn’t contain herself, much to my delight. I turned to her, her eyes still focused on me. Without another word she wrapped her arms around me, and I around her. It was the most comfort I had felt in months, and it was refreshing. The last time I had felt this comfortable was on my first date with Kevin, that is before he felt me up. Since then, it had been a long sojourn into the worlds of physical intimacy.

What wasn’t obvious to my parents, especially my father, about our relationship was that it was largely physical. Kevin and I didn’t talk much and after those seemingly wholesome gatherings with my family, we would go up to my room and close the door behind us. Either my parents didn’t notice or they didn’t want to notice, but the effect was the same; they never mentioned it. So after a hot, home cooked meal, over a discussion of sports and local politics, I found myself naked and being prodded in places, I hadn’t, up until recently, known existed.

Kevin was remarkably quiet, out of experience or out of bashfulness. I was grateful either way, for the only thing that I was concerned about was ensuring that no one knew what we were doing. I am sure Kevin didn’t want my parents to know what we were doing but his friends always gave me strange looks and knowing glances which I swore were the result of locker room discussions. Kevin denied it vehemently whenever I raised the issue. We had only gone as far as oral sex, that is, him on me, I couldn’t swallow the other end of that deal, please forgive the pun. Come to think of it, a month and a half was awful fast to have reached that point in a relationship but I would only come to this realization in hindsight. The sensations were unusual and foreign to me, but with time, I just came to expect the unexpected. With time, I supposed that I could get used to any sexual activity. Time, however, was a commodity with Kevin for just as I was getting used to one thing, he had already moved on to another, and perhaps even another still. I convinced myself that this was the way things were meant to be. It would be years later that I learned, from my husband, that the way things are, and the way things are meant to be are two entirely different issues.

Soon the day of the prom was upon me. I skipped that day of school, unbeknownst to my parents, and went for a walk by the stream at the back of our property. Walks of this sort usually served to calm me, but not so today. I shuddered wildly like one of the nascent, spring leaves of the willow as its long foliage draped sloppily in the wind. It was only twelve o’ clock in the afternoon. What was I to do for another seven and a half hours before Kevin came to pick me up? I considered eating lunch but my stomach, mirroring my body, was also grinding wildly inside me. I ended up skipping lunch, supper too for that matter. I spent the remainder of that afternoon pacing back and forth nervously awaiting about five or so, when I resolved to begin preparations. Time moved like molasses. It was as though someone had opened the face of my watch and poured molasses into the mechanism and the hands of my watch strained to move forward through the viscous liquid. I tried to avoid looking at my watch, eventually giving in to my curiosity. Time moved in five minute increments throughout the afternoon. Finally the predetermined hour of five o’clock arrived. Actually it was a quarter to five but I decided that was close enough. I ran towards my house, up the stairs on the porch, through the door, straight past my parents in the living room, into my room and closed the door behind me.

I had my make up laid out waiting on the mirrored dresser in front of me, and my dress was placed neatly on my bed. I examined my dress looking closely for any flaws; anything less than perfection would have caught my eye. Fortunately, everything checked out. I looked to my dresser where a few bath beads lay as a reminder on the table. Could you imagine? In my excitement I had almost forgotten to take a bath. I opened my door and walked into the bathroom where I drew myself a bath. I could hear my parents taking dimly over the rush of flowing water. I made out my father saying,

“Is she going to be all right?” My mother immediately answered.

“Yes, just fine. It happens to ‘us’…” ‘women’ was understood here “… at that age. I’ll run up and check on her.” Shortly thereafter I heard my mother approach up the stair case. I looked at her from the bathroom door which faced the stair case. She smiled sweetly at me. Her face revealed empathy for my current condition. Clearly, she had found herself in a similar position at my age. She didn’t say much, but what she did say, meant so much to me.

“How are you doing?” she asked softly.

“Just fine” my nervous expression betraying my true emotions. Pretending not to notice, she continued,

“Go ahead and take your bath. When you are finished, give me a call and I will help you get dressed.”

It was these few words of genuine affection which comforted me. I did exactly as she said. I enjoyed a relaxing bath and when I emerged, my mother and I prepared for the prom. I never knew that my mother was so knowledgeable with make up. She taught me many tricks that I never knew before. When we were finished I righted myself slowly and looked in the mirror. It was the prettiest I had ever felt. My mother and I hugged, not allowing our faces to touch for fear of smudging my makeup. I looked at the clock on my wall and it was almost seven thirty. Those last two hours or so had passed so quickly. At that exact moment, the door bell rang, and the butterflies which had left my stomach for those two hours, returned with a vengeance. It was obviously Kevin both at the door and causing the churning of my stomach. My father answered on my behalf. I was a little angry about it too; I wanted the first face he saw to be mine. I approached the stair case. Kevin could was still not in view, although I could here him having some sort of conversation with my father. The staircase in my house, from upstairs going down, first had a small flight of steps which led to a landing. The landing was in full view of the front door, and then a longer flight of stairs led one to the foyer of our house. I made my way down the small flight of stairs, and turned, letting Kevin cast eyes on my for the first time that night. The conversation he was having with my father ended abruptly. They both turned silently to face me. There was a moment of silence as they both assessed me. This was a moment of feminine grandeur. I could see in my father’s eyes that he was realizing that his daughter was growing up. Kevin was in awe of his girlfriend. I felt sought after and beautiful. It was a feeling which filled and warmed me. I walked down the stairs like a beauty queen, my dress flowing with me. You could have scraped Kevin’s jaw off the floor but after some time he regained some of his composure and said,

“Wow … you … you look incredible” he stammered slightly, forcing his words. For a moment he had a cute look about him, like a child who had just been given candy. Shortly thereafter he returned to his more adult appearance. Let’s not forget Kevin in all this. He was wearing a tuxedo: A tuxedo much as you would expect, black with a white shirt, black bow-tie and a cumberbonet. I am sure that most guys at the prom that night wore a similar outfit, but he sure filled it well. It was more who he was than what he was wearing though. I would be arriving with the football star of our entire high school. How perfect.

Kevin asked to see my wrist. He affixed the lovely corsage which he brought with him. It was a yellowish flower which really didn’t go with the dress that I was wearing but it was the thought that counted. My parents and I exchanged some pleasantries, they wished us both well, and we headed out the door.

“Wait! … I almost forgot”. My father rushed into the other room. Kevin and I turned and waited. My father came back with his camera and asked us to pose. I was actually glad that my father remembered. I would want to have as many pictures as possible. We smiled innocently and posed with our arm around each other’s shoulders. And with that we walked, waving good bye, out the door to the limousine which awaited us. My mother and father walked into the nearby kitchen which had an outwardly facing window which allowed them to watch us silently as we left. I wondered what they were thinking and feeling. Kevin held the door of the limo open for me. I climbed in and after a moment of fussing, making sure my dress didn’t catch in the door, he closed the door and entered the from the other side. That was that, I was on my way to my first prom ever.

Contents: http://www.martincwiner.com/circle-250-a-novel/

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