“I’m busy, Jean.” Stupid tape, never wants to tear straight.
“I’ll fix you a nice snack.”
“Leave me alone.” Can’t she see I’m working? Doesn’t she realize I don’t want to talk right now?
“Would you like a soda?”
I pound on the dry-rotted roof of the porch. “I said I’m fine! Leave me alone! LEAVE ME ALONE!”
I press my forehead to the rough shingles.
“Deacon.” She touches my leg. “Come inside.”
I sit on the living room couch. The haze of self-pity is almost palpable. I don’t know what’s more pathetic: that Kelli is going to prom with some jock, or that Jean realizes I need cheering up. She’s in the kitchen now, probably preparing my favorite snack: mixed fruit, topped with Ding Dongs and Twinkies. And no fruit.
She joins me on the sofa. I’m surprised to see her carrying two bottles of beer. I can’t remember the last time I saw Jean drink alcohol; she only keeps the stuff on hand for when she hosts her bridge club. I’ve had to confiscate the car keys of more than one granny.
I’m a little stunned when Jean hands me one of the bottles. But I’m also kind of cheered up by the adult gesture. We click our drinks and I take a swig.
I think my face gives my reaction away.
“It’s an acquired taste,” says Jean. “Now do you want to talk?”
I shrug. “You were right. I waited too long. She’s going with someone else.”
Jean takes a surprisingly long drink of her beer. “I’m sorry, Deacon.”
“It’s not your fault.”
She smiles at me sadly. “It kind of is. I think maybe I pressured you into asking someone. Maybe you didn’t even want to go to prom.”
I contemplate my drink. “I did. I just didn’t realize how much until it was too late. I’m an idiot.”
Jean pats my knee. “You’re in good company. Your father smashed up Grandpa Howard’s old Ford on prom night. And your aunt Karen got into such a raging fight with her boyfriend that the police were called. Heck, the night of my own prom, my friend—”
“Wait, whoa, they had proms when you went to school?” I had always kind of pictured Jean attending a one-room school with a coal-burning stove and an outhouse.
“Yes, smartass. What did you think we had, masked balls and cotillions?”
“Maybe. So what was it like?” Jean doesn’t talk a lot about the days before she got married. I’m anxious to hear this story.
She takes a long swig. “Well, it was a Broadway theme. They had the old gym all decorated like New York City. Sinatra was big back then, they played a lot of his songs. Anyway, my friend Peggy had just started dating this guy, Bruce—”
“Hang on. So did you go with Grandpa?” From what I know about my grandfather, he probably wasn’t at all nervous about asking her.
But Jean shakes her head. I’m shocked. Did she go alone? Did she have a boyfriend before my grandfather? If so, do I really want to know about that?
Jean is quiet for a bit. And when she finally speaks, her tone is suddenly grave.
“Your grandfather was a year older than me.”
I’m not following. “Yeah?”
“And those days, young men were required to enlist in the armed forces. You know Grandpa Howard served in the Vietnam War.”
“Of course.”
“We’d always planned on going to the dance together, your grandfather and I. But when he got his draft notice . . .”
It suddenly clicks into place. The Locke family was never rich. Grandpa Howard was probably inducted into the army right after he graduated. Which means . . .
“I never went to my prom. Howard was stationed on the other side of the world at the time. It seemed . . . frivolous to go without him. Disloyal.” She stares off into space, her mind a million miles away.
When she finally looks up at me, she’s smiling sadly. “I spent my entire senior year terrified of that telegram from the State Department. I did not, as you can imagine, enjoy myself.”
“Oh, Jean.” I give her a one-armed hug. We finish our beers without talking.
“Deacon, those stupid dances aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. We’re both probably better off not going.” She gathers the empty bottles and heads for the kitchen.
Wow, Jean missed her prom. That makes me kind of angry. It makes my problems seem stupid by comparison. I’m going to miss the dance because of my nerves. Jean missed hers because of a freaking war.
Darn you, President Lyndon Johnson!
But what’s done is done. I just wish Jean didn’t look so sad when she was talking about her prom. I worry that’s going to be me in fifty years.
FIVE
WHEN I WALK INTO SCHOOL THE NEXT DAY, I’M relieved that there are no promposals in progress. Just a lot of people milling around. Guys I never hung out with. Girls I never dated. Groups I was never part of.
And Elijah, barreling toward me with his arms outstretched.
I contemplate making a break for it, but that’s one of the many disadvantages of being tall: you can’t vanish into a crowd.
“Deacon!” he bellows, loud enough that several people turn and look at us. He reaches up and grabs me by the shoulders. “There’s the man of the hour. My hero. The guy who single-handedly turned my love life around.”
Yeah, people are staring. “Uh, I didn’t really do anything. . . .”
“Don’t be modest! You were the one who kicked me in the butt! The dude who gave me the confidence to ask out Clara! The guy who led me forward into a land of pure romantic bliss!”
He says that last part really loud and then hugs me. I sheepishly smile at the spectators as I disentangle myself.
“Elijah, all I said to you was ‘sure, whatever.’”
“And more inspiring words were never spoken. Such a debt I owe you, my friend.”
The scary thing is, I don’t think he’s being sarcastic. I step away.
“Hang on there, Kong. You never told me what happened with you and your lady love! Did you ask her? Did she say yes?”
Sigh. “No. I mean yes. I mean . . . it didn’t work out. I waited too long.” Why am I unburdening myself to Elijah?
To my surprise, the goofy expression leaves his face. He looks genuinely concerned. “Sorry, man. Rough break. You going to ask someone else?”
“Nah. Don’t know anyone. No biggie, I’ll stay home and hang out with my grandma.”
Oh God. How pathetic did that sound? Wow.
Elijah, however, doesn’t laugh. He glances around, then moves in closer to me. “I wouldn’t give up. I see the way girls look at you.”
I nervously glance around, in case anyone is looking at me. But the crowd has moved on.
“I’m serious, Deacon. You’ve still got a few weeks. If you want to go, go.”
I admit it. I’m tempted. But I’m not someone like Elijah who has no sense of fear. Or someone like that guy Jason, with, you know, charm. I can’t just run up to some random stranger and ask her to the dance. I’ve frightened enough babies and animals in my life, and I don’t need girls running in fear too.
“Elijah, I just don’t know anyone.”
He tries to wrap a conspiratorial arm around my shoulder, but can’t quite reach. “Don’t ask just ‘anyone,’ my friend. Let’s do this logically.”
“I have to get to class.”
He ignores me. “First of all, does your date absolutely have to be female?”
“Ideally, yes.”
“Okay. Now let’s get to the important stuff. What’re your turn-ons? Turn-offs? You like ’em skinny, blonde, BBW, goth, no tattoos, or what?”
This is going nowhere. “Elijah, I’m not looking to hook up right now. I just want . . . forget it.”
“No, c’mon man, tell me.”
“It sounds stupid. I just want to go to the dance with . . . someone.”
“Wow, that does sound stupid.”
How do I put this into words? “I do want to
go to prom. But I don’t want to spend the whole evening wondering if my date likes me or if she’s bored or if we’re going to . . . you know.”
Elijah laughs.
“I just wanted to go with someone I could have fun with. Like Kelli. Someone I wouldn’t have to impress. Someone who could enjoy the dance for the sake of the dance. I guess I just want a friend to go with, and it’s too late for that now.”
He nods. “Yeah, I already have a date.”
“Excuse me?”
“Huh? Nothing. Look. There’s got to be someone out there who could tolerate you for an evening. Who do you know who likes you, even in a Jesus kind of way? Someone maybe not that great-looking, someone who probably isn’t going to get asked. Someone you can hang out with and have a good time, without putting on an act. Think hard.”
I laugh. “Elijah, I don’t have a lot of friends. Hell, the only person you’re describing that I know is . . .
“Is . . .”
Holy shit.
My ideal date does exist. She always has. Right under my nose.
Good grief, why didn’t I think of this before?
The more I consider this insane idea, the less crazy it seems. I mean . . . it’s totally off-the-rails nuts, but . . .
My God . . . we could totally go to prom together. She’d say yes in a heartbeat.
“Deacon! Are you okay? You look funny.”
I let out a loud burst of laughter.
“Is something wrong? Should I get you an ice pack? Boil some towels?”
“Elijah, I could kiss you!”
He glances over his shoulder. “Um, okay. Don’t tell Clara.”
“Be serious. I just thought of someone who’d go with me! Someone wonderful!”
Elijah grins. “Dude! That’s great. Who is she? Not a freshman, I hope.”
I shake my head. “No, she’s out of school.”
“Oh, a cougar. How old, nineteen?”
I try to remember. “She’s sixty-eight.”
His face falls. “Uh, listen. I know I don’t know you that well, but—”
I’m too excited to listen. I grab him by the arm. “I’ll ask her today. But I need your help. You’ll help me, right?”
“Uh . . .”
“Of course you will! This is going to be great!” I slap him on the back.
Then I help him to his feet.
Elijah and Jason sit on my crumbling front porch. It occurs to me that this is the first time I’ve ever invited anyone over here.
“Thanks for coming out on such short notice, guys.”
Jason lays a hand on his guitar case. “Kidnapping, Deacon. The term is kidnapping.”
I smile apologetically. Maybe I’d been a little enthusiastic, helping Jason into Elijah’s car. He’d calmed down, though, once we explained this was a business venture.
Jason pulls out a comb and begins arranging his hair. “So is she meeting us here or what?”
I look at my watch. “We’ve got about an hour. She should be back from water aerobics by then.”
He snorts. “Water aerobics? What is she, your grandmother?”
“Yes. She is.”
He pauses, midcomb. I explain.
“Her name is Jean, she’s very special to me, and she didn’t get to go to her own prom.” I hope he understands that a joke would be most unwelcome at this time.
He just stares at me. And then, slowly, a smile takes over his face.
“Dude . . . that’s awesome.”
“Isn’t it just?” says Elijah.
I don’t think they’re making fun of me.
Jason claps his hands once. “Okay, let’s get rolling. Your grandma, does she have a favorite song?”
That’s a good question. All her music sounds the same to me. But I remember something she said the other day.
“Sinatra. I think she likes him.”
“I can do that. So where do you want to do this?”
“Um . . . I dunno. Maybe the backyard?”
He rolls his eyes. “Just get her back there. Leave the rest to me.”
I’m perversely glad that Jason’s here. He seems so on top of things.
“So . . .” It feels so strange to ask this. “You guys want to come inside, grab a soda or something?”
Jason stands. “Sure. You go change.”
It hadn’t occurred to me I’d need better clothes for this, but I might as well go all out. Hell, Jean deserves the best. Abandoning the guys in the kitchen, I rush upstairs. I then remember that my only nice clothes are the ones I wore for Kelli the other day, and they’re in the wash. I start to panic. I don’t own what you’d call an extensive wardrobe. When you have my proportions, you get used to limited selection, ugly colors, and half-exposed calves.
Inspiration hits, and I remember that some of my grandfather’s old clothes are still hanging in one of the upstairs bedrooms. I never knew Grandpa in life, but Jean always says that’s where I got my height. Digging through an old canvas storage case, I finally locate a dress shirt and slacks. There are some neckties as well, but my father never taught me how to operate one.
As I struggle into the tight-fitting clothes, I pause to think. Am I being weird? Asking my own grandmother to prom. How will people react when I show up with Jean as my date?
Maybe I should think this through. Not for my sake, but for Jean’s. If people start making fun of her . . .
I catch a glimpse of myself in the wall mirror. The shaggy hair, the caveman brow, the perpetually confused and slightly angry expression. And the fact that I have to bend down to see my reflection.
I’m nearly seven feet tall. No one will have a problem with my choice of date. Not if they know what’s good for them.
I return downstairs to find Elijah and Jason drinking Cokes in the living room. I rush to move their cans onto coasters.
Elijah points to a picture on the end table. “Is that your grandpa?”
“Yep. Jean’s husband.” He’s receiving a medal from a general. It must have been shortly after he was wounded, as he’s still in a wheelchair. Despite his uniform and the military pomp, Grandpa Howard still looks like a gawky teenager.
Of course he actually was just a gawky teenager at the time. Funny how different our lives turned out to be.
“Vietnam?” asks Jason.
“Yeah. Lost a leg there. Actually, that’s his prosthetic right there.”
I gesture to the table lamp that Jean painted and wired up out of Grandpa’s old metal leg. With the lampshade, you can’t really tell what it used to be. It’s the one piece of art Jean created that turned out perfectly.
Jason and Elijah just stare.
“Isn’t it neat?” I prompt.
“That’s one choice of adjective,” says Jason.
I hear Jean’s arthritic car stop at the end of the driveway as she gets the mail. We jump to our feet.
“Quick, guys, out the back. We’ll meet you there.”
Jason grabs his guitar. “You know, we haven’t talked cash yet. I charge mileage, you know.”
“Out! Out!”
They vanish through the kitchen door.
This is it. In a moment of inspiration, I rifle through Jean’s craft supplies and pull out a couple of artificial flowers.
Jean comes through the door. Smile, Deacon. You’re on.
She must have stopped at the grocery store, because she’s struggling with several plastic bags. I move forward to give her a hand.
She notices me for the first time.
She screams.
Not a startled scream, though. Her hands fly to her cheeks and a horrified shriek escapes her mouth. The groceries tumble across the floor.
“Jean?” I drop the flowers. I almost run toward her, but stop, wondering what’s scaring her, and if it’s me, and why would I scare her, and would coming near her just make things worse?
And then, just like that, the weird episode stops. Jean falls silent and leans against the doorframe. She laughs weakly and fans hers
elf with her hand.
“Jean?” Tentatively, I approach her.
“I’m sorry, Deacon. Sometimes I forget what a man you’ve grown into. When I saw you standing there, I didn’t recognize you for a moment. I thought you were . . . goodness, I feel foolish.”
I take her by the hand. “I’m so sorry. Why don’t you sit down and let me get you a glass of water.”
She pulls away. “Posh, I’m fine.” She bends down to pick up her bags, but then stops. “Did you get new clothes?”
I gather up the rest of the bags and place them on the table. “They’re Grandpa’s.”
Jean is looking at me with a smirk. “And flowers?”
I stoop down to pick up the artificial roses. This is suddenly a lot more awkward than I’d pictured. Things always are.
“Well, I can see you’re busy. Do you need to use the car?” Her eyes twinkle.
“Actually, Jean, would you mind coming to the backyard with me?”
She looks quizzical but doesn’t say anything. Me, I’m about to hyperventilate.
When we reach the corner of the house, I tell Jean to close her eyes. I then lead her by the hand. Jason is already in position, his guitar on one knee. Elijah holds a phone in one hand, an index finger poised above the screen. He looks like he’s about to detonate a bomb. Too late to do anything about that now.
“Okay, Jean, open your eyes.”
She gasps when she realizes we are not alone, and for a moment I fear she’s going to freak out again. But she only looks at me questioningly.
Jason strums a chord. Elijah stabs the phone, which comes alive with some sort of backup music.
“Deacon?”
I gently shush her, as Jason starts singing “You Make Me Feel So Young.”
Jason has that annoyingly serene look on his face, as if overcome by the beauty of his own talents. Elijah holds the phone rigidly pointed at us, smiling in that deranged way of his. But Jean . . . she doesn’t look happy. She keeps looking at me, almost annoyed. Like I’ve dragged her to an event she is not enjoying. I guess she doesn’t understand why this is happening and it’s making her uncomfortable.
I think Jason realizes this too. After he finishes the first chorus, he just starts playing gentle chords. Our eyes meet, and he nods at Jean. My cue.
Deacon Locke Went to Prom Page 3
