I never married or danced to another man after my high school boyfriend disappeared on the night of the prom in 1985; last week, a little girl handed me the boutonnière he was wearing that night.
In 1985, my high school boyfriend kissed my forehead during the prom and promised to come back in five minutes. I never saw him again. Forty years later, an eight-year-old girl quietly put the missing boutonnière in my hands and whispered, “It must be with you.”
Every spring, someone asks me if I ever went to the prom.
Not out of curiosity.
But because the institute uses the gymnasium of our primary school every April, and the decorations always arrive at the cafeteria before the students.
Silver coils.
Fairy light boxes.
Balloons that refuse to stay where they have been beaten.
I spend the mornings serving macaroni and cheese while the teenagers carry cardboard stars down the hallway, arguing over the centerpieces.
