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.
Last Thursday, one of the youngest teachers leaned on the service counter while I was serving mashed potatoes.
“You know?” she said. You'd probably win the title of Queen of Dance today.
I laughed. “Oh, honey. That train passed a long time ago.
“So you went?
"Once.
She smiled. “What was he like?” The question took me by surprise.
Before I could respond, three second-year students began arguing about who had the largest portion of mashed potatoes.
I pointed to the trays. “No one leaves until those carrots are over.
The teacher laughed and left. He forgot the conversation.
Not me.
That morning, after forty years following exactly the same routine, I had opened the small cedar box of the comfortable of my bedroom.
Inside rested an already lacklustered doll bouquet. The ribbon had gone from white to cream.
The tiny flowers had become so delicate that I was almost afraid to touch them.
But every spring... I did.
Because Michael had asked me to keep it forever.
“I’ll stay with my boutonnière,” he said. You stay with your bouquet. And when we are old and have wrinkles...” He had smiled. “...we will see what flower survives longer.”
I remember putting my eyes on white.
“Were you already assumed that we would reach old and wrinkled?”
Life had other plans.
***
Michael and I started dating in the middle of a second year of high school.
He was that kind of person who couldn’t cross the high school parking lot without stopping to help someone.
