Prom Night in Purgatory

by Amy Harmon

  “If time is sequential, then tonight is the first time we’ve ever met. But if time is just one eternal circle, it’s hard to know when ‘before’ ends and ‘after’ begins.”

  Johnny stood up abruptly and walked down to the water’s edge. He set his hands on his hips and stared out, facing away from her. He was silhouetted against the silver glass of the lake, youthful and strong, and still doomed by fate. Maggie knew she was talking in riddles, making absolutely no sense.

  Maggie slid her feet into her shoes and made her way across the rocky shore and down to the hard packed sand, stepping gingerly in the high red heels to keep from twisting an ankle. She too stopped at the water’s edge, just out of reach of the lapping tide.

  “What do you call a smart blonde?” she blurted out awkwardly.

  Johnny’s head swiveled around in confusion.

  “What do you call a smart blonde?” she repeated.

  “I don’t know,” Johnny hedged, his eyebrows high, waiting.

  “A golden retriever.”

  Johnny threw back his head and laughed. “What?!”

  “Well, I thought the time space continuum might be a little heavy for the first date.” Maggie wrinkled her nose at him sheepishly. “I thought I’d tell you a joke to lighten things up.”

  “I see.” Johnny grinned down at her. He was quiet for a moment, his wheels turning. Then he offered a joke of his own.

  “You heard about the blonde coyote that got caught in a trap, didn’t you?” Johnny was pretty quick on the uptake. Blonde jokes were not a fifties phenomenon.

  “No, I didn’t hear about that,” Maggie smiled, waiting.

  “Yeah, it gnawed off three of its legs and it was still stuck.”

  Maggie’s laughter peeled out over the water and they were off, shooting jokes back and forth, the weighty conversation of minutes before long forgotten. They bantered like that for almost an hour with silly things and questions designed to get to know one another. Maggie recognized the Johnny she had come to know and love, but she also enjoyed the Johnny who was not yet weighed down or aged by the years he’d been imprisoned in Purgatory. She didn’t return to the topic of her appearance at the prom or why she had no place to go. She lived in the moment with him and resolved to will herself home when and if the moment passed. And of course the thought niggled at the back of her brain...what if she could stay?

  “All right, the question that everyone asks eventually...favorite color?” Maggie intoned.

  “Pink,” Johnny replied seriously, without pause.

  “Really?” Maggie had asked him this question before....or after. She shook her head, her mind swimming. In Purgatory he’d told her his favorite color was white. He said white felt safe.

  “Yep. Think about it. Everything that’s pink is usually soft, pretty, and it tastes good.” Johnny’s voice was husky, and he drew his words out slowly. She knew he was flirting, that he had possibly used the line before, but it didn’t matter. His words made her hot inside, and she wished for a second that she was the kind of girl who would take what she wanted and to hell with the consequences. But she wasn’t. Life had taught her that consequences were ugly and painful, and seldom worth the pleasure they had been bartered for.

  “It’s your turn.”

  “Huh? Oh. Yellow,” she supplied. “Yellow is happy.”

  “Put yellow and pink together, and it makes peach....soft, pretty, tastes really good, and makes you happy.”

  “Perfect. Then we’re meant for each other.” She sighed and batted her eyes, and he laughed again.

  It was his turn for a question. He asked her for her favorite movie. He’d just seen Hitchcock’s Vertigo and liked it - Maggie had no idea what to say. So she offered Rebel Without a Cause.

  Johnny groaned. “All the girls say that. James Dean isn’t really that good looking, is he?

  “I think he looks a little like you,” Maggie grinned.

  “Well, then. I guess he is pretty irresistible.”

  “I guess so,” Maggie snickered.

  Favorite song? Johnny liked too many to decide. Maggie scrambled to claim a favorite from his decade and blurted out “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes.”

  Johnny shook his head. “I don’t know that one. Kinda funny title. Sing a little for me, and maybe I’ll recognize it.”

  “It’s an oldie, but it’s probably still the best love song I’ve ever heard.” Maggie grimaced. She didn’t know when that song actually came out. She shouldn’t have said it was an oldie. She tried to change the subject.

  “I can’t sing it to you because I sing like a frog. I’m a dancer, not a singer.”

  Johnny got a speculative look on his face and without warning, he loped back up the hilly incline to the car. He started it up and flipped on the lights and within seconds Ray Charles was groaning out “A Fool For You,” the gritty longing pouring out of the windows and touching her like a caress. Shutting the doors, Johnny walked back down the hill, and just liked he’d done earlier in the evening, he held out a hand to Maggie.

  “You only got to dance to two songs before the heat caught up to you.” Johnny’s lips turned up at the mention of ‘heat.’ “Would you like to dance?”

  Maggie slid into his arms like she had never left, and he immediately spun her out again, and then pulled her close, locking her up tight against him. Maggie caught her breath. The song was sexy and sinuous, and Maggie closed her eyes and moved with him. Freed from the confines of a crowded gymnasium, neither of them seemed willing to maintain a respectful distance. But in spite of their proximity, the music was not an excuse to simply hold one another, and they danced, gliding around the hard-packed beach with the car lights creating a spotlight that blotted out the rest of the universe.

  One song led to another. “In the Still of the Night,” “You Send Me,” “Stardust,” and “Mona Lisa” echoed out across the glassy water. Maggie was grateful for the melancholy radio announcer spinning out love song after love song, mournful ballad after mournful ballad, giving them words when it was too soon to speak them.

  “And here’s to all the young lovers, wherever you are - so many people have sung this one...but I like the way Frank sings it best. Here’s ‘Where or When.’”

  The opening bars of a song Maggie had never heard before rang out and wrapped around them in silky persuasion.

  It seems we stood and talked like this before

  We looked at each other in the same way then,

  The clothes you’re wearing are the clothes you wore

  The smile you’re smiling you smiled then

  But I can’t remember when.

  Some things that happen for the first time

  Seem to be happening again

  And so it seems that we have met before

  And laughed before

  And loved before

  But who knows where or when

  Maggie tipped her head up to look at Johnny. He didn’t break his gaze as his legs moved against hers, her skirts wrapping around him as they danced. His arm was firm on her waist, her hand tucked against his chest, his eyes on hers. The last notes rang across the distance, and Johnny dipped Maggie so low that her hair brushed the beach before he swung her back up against him.

  The lights on the car flickered once and faded sickly. The climactic final note still echoed in her head, but no more music filled the air. Johnny stepped back slightly and dropped his hands to hers. The lights from the car no longer illuminated the dark, but Maggie could still see Johnny’s face, though it was shadowed. He had an inscrutable expression in his eyes, like he was fighting an inner battle of sorts. Maggie stared, not willing to step away, but afraid to step forward. It could be too soon, but it might be all they had.

  And then he closed the space and his mouth was poised above hers. His breath fanned against her face, tangling with her own in a heady mix of anticipation and desire. His hands released hers, sliding up the smooth skin of her arms, up her shoulders to cradle her face in his fingerti
ps. He lifted her chin slightly and touched his lips to hers, leaving the barest whisper between their mouths.

  “Maggie?” Her name was a question on his lips, and she whispered back the answer.

  “Johnny.”

  Then the whisper was chased away by the roaring in her ears and the pounding of her heart. He kissed her madly, his hands leaving her face to wrap around her waist, and he lifted her off the ground as his mouth plundered hers in a kiss as thorough and complete as the solitude was around them. The world tilted, and Maggie felt herself go with it, unaligned with the natural order of things, but in complete harmony with the boy in her arms.

  “There...” Johnny tore his lips away, gasping. “There...did you feel that?”

  Maggie stared up at him, waiting, her chest heaving.

  “Deja vu.” They said the word in unison. Johnny shook his head, almost like he needed to clear it.

  “Time changing its mind,” he whispered.

  “From what was to what is,” Maggie finished, her voice as hushed as his.

  ***

  The car battery had died but neither of them really cared. Johnny said there would be a park ranger at the ranger station on the north side of the reservoir first thing in the morning now that warmer weather had brought the Sunday crowds. He would run for cables and the attendant’s car and they would be on their way first thing in the morning.

  It had grown late, and the summer was still a little more than a month away. The night air suddenly felt cold on Maggie’s bare arms and shoulders, and she was thankful for the nylons she had wished to be rid of only a couple of hours before.

  Johnny pulled another scratchy blanket from the back seat of his car and wrapped her in his jacket. They lay side by side on one blanket, pulling the other over the top of them both. He pulled her into his arms, a solid presence at her back, his chin resting on her head, her head cushioned on his shoulder. The blankets smelled of a greasy mechanics shop, but Maggie was too happy to care. Her eyes slid closed, confident that she would be safe from time’s pull in the circle of Johnny’s arms.

  “How do you keep a blonde in suspense?” Maggie yawned and let her heavy eyes rest.

  “How?”

  “I’ll tell you tomorrow...”

  Johnny laughed, and Maggie felt the rumble against her cheek.

  “Well, Bonnie. It’s official. You’ve left the straight and narrow. Car theft, evading the police, and spending the night in a stranger’s arms. All in the space of a few hours.”

  “Well Clyde. I guess you’re right...but you helped me evade the police, provided the getaway car, and you are now about to sleep next to a known criminal.” Maggie felt his laughter flutter her hair. She smiled drowsily. She really couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  “I like it when you call me Bonnie,” she mumbled.

  “Why, Bonnie?”

  “My dad used to call me bonny Maggie,” she sighed. “It makes me think of him.”

  “Bonny means pretty, right?”

  Maggie nodded, almost asleep.

  “Maggie? Where are your parents?”

  She didn’t answer right away, and Johnny thought she must have fallen asleep. So it almost startled him when she answered softly, her voice heavy with impending slumber. “They haven’t even been born...and when I return - they will already be dead.” Maggie’s voice drifted off as sleep overcame her, and she offered nothing more.

  Johnny lay beside her and held her as she slept, his mind a jumble with the impossibility of the girl in his arms and the frightening way he felt about her. She was beautiful, but there were other beautiful girls. She was funny and zany and different from any girl he’d ever met. But even that couldn’t account for the almost desperate attraction he felt after such a short time. Sleep evaded him until the first blush of dawn pinked the eastern horizon, and the birds kicked up their sunrise chatter. Then he fell into an exhausted sleep, where even dreams could not disturb him.

  ~14~

  A Time to Keep Silent

  Maggie didn’t know what awakened her. Maybe it was the weight of Johnny’s arm or the heat that his body produced. Most likely it was the pressing need of a very full bladder, but Maggie resisted movement for as along as she could, filled with an inexpressible joy that morning had come and Johnny lay beside her. Hope filled her chest like a yellow balloon, and Maggie felt a sudden urge to leap from the blankets and have a “Sound of Music” moment, complete with spread arms and joyful singing. But her body insisted that she find a bathroom or a grove of trees first. She eased out from Johnny’s arm, trying not to disturb him. He slept deeply, not even stirring when she picked her way across the distance from the blankets to his car. With luck he would have a comb in his jockey box or some tic tacs or something. Did they make tic tacs in the ‘50s? Did they have jockey boxes? Maggie giggled softly and looked back at Johnny, hoping she hadn’t awakened him. One arm was flung over his face, and the other lay against the blankets where she had slipped from his embrace.

  Maggie eased the car door open and slid inside, looking for anything to make her morning self more attractive. The rear view mirror showed that her makeup hadn’t really survived the campout. Her mascara was flaky, and her lipstick had been kissed off. Well and truly kissed off. Maggie flushed and grinned at her reflection. After a few moments, she still hadn’t found a comb or a breath mint. She reached under the seat and felt around, hoping for a miracle.

  “Ah hah!” She said triumphantly, pulling out the little silver purse that she’d taken with her to the prom. It had fallen to the floor and been kicked beyond her sight. She knew Aunt Irene had tucked a lipstick inside when they’d been playing dress-up. She popped it open and pulled out not only the lipstick but her black framed glasses.

  “I forgot these were in here!” Out of habit, Maggie unfolded them and set them on her nose. She pulled the cap off the gold tube of lipstick and lifted her eyes up to the mirror to guide her application.

  Something was wrong. Maggie reached out to touch the mirror, confused by the empty glass. She couldn’t see her reflection. She tried to adjust the mirror, positioning herself directly in front of it, but her hands disappeared in front of her face as she stared at them through the lenses of the glasses she had not needed since slipping through time.

  “No!” Maggie reached for the handle of the door, crying out for Johnny. What had been an insistent tugging previously was now a black hole -- a sucking, churning whirlpool. Maggie tried to remove the glasses from her eyes, but she had no power over her limbs. There was no sound and no air and then the world around her faded, and she was no longer in Johnny’s car. Maggie clawed frantically for something to cling to but felt herself being pulled under. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t breathe! And then darkness engulfed her, and she fought no more.

  ***

  Maggie wasn’t lying next to him when he awoke. The sun had risen quite high in the sky, and Johnny sat up suddenly, astonished by the length of time he had slept. Maggie’s red shoes lay next to his near the bottom of the blanket, so she couldn’t have gone far. He rubbed his hands back and forth through his rumpled hair and ran his hands across his bristly jaw. He must look a sight. It was a good thing he was a handsome son of a bitch. He laughed at himself and realized that he felt almost euphoric. He was in love with a girl named Maggie. He’d never been in love before. He didn’t even know her last name. He stood, stretching and looked around. Where was she?

  “Maggie?” he called, combing the beach with his gaze. He swung around, calling her name. The driver’s side door of the car was slightly ajar. He walked to it and opened the car door all the way, almost expecting her to be sleeping on the front seat, having gotten uncomfortable or cold in the night. She wasn’t there. He slid in and felt around, hoping he had left a comb in the jockey box...or maybe a breath mint. Her little silver purse lay on the seat. He popped it open, but it was completely empty. What girl brings an empty purse to a dance? Don’t they cram as many things as they can into their bags a
nd purses? Apparently not Maggie. He stared into it, at a loss. He caught a glint of something gold and shiny out of the corner of his eye. He leaned down and picked up a cap off of the floor of the Bel Air. It looked like the cap from a tube of lipstick.

  His rear view mirror was at the wrong angle, and he righted it, thinking Maggie must have checked her reflection for it to be so skewed. She must have walked down to the water. Maybe she had gone to find a bathroom. He didn’t know why she’d left her shoes. Of course, her red heels couldn’t be much more comfortable than walking barefoot, especially where the sand got deep. He stepped out of the car and slipped his own shoes on. He loped down to the water and proceeded to wet his hair, wash his face, and rinse his mouth with cold water. He would just wait until she came back, and then he would head over to the Ranger station to get help starting his car.

  An hour later there was still no sign of her. Johnny had walked up and down the beach, calling her name. He had walked the quarter of a mile down to the Ranger station, where there also happened to be some nicer bathrooms, but no one had seen any sign of her. The beach had started filling up with cars and families, with their kids and their pets and their big brightly colored umbrellas.

  Three hours after he’d awakened to find Maggie missing, Johnny had to admit to himself that she was long gone. He was angry, but more than that, he was afraid. Why wouldn’t she take her shoes? The girl was a mystery, no doubt about it. She had said that she didn’t know how long she would be around, and some of her comments of the night before now niggled at him. Maybe she was a little messed up in the head. It had all been so romantic and real, and she had been so intense and clear eyed that he had almost believed her when she had started saying things that he didn’t understand and couldn’t even fathom. But he couldn’t stand the thought that she might be gone for good. What if he never saw her again? The answering ache that gripped his chest was almost as frightening as her disappearance.