When Katie started talking about her prom four years ago, memories of my own prom days came rushing back. I remember everything about that night, from the black velvet gown I wore to the pink orchid corsage my boyfriend gave me to the prime rib and chocolate cake that was served for dinner.
I still reminisce about those high-school days and that one night I danced away without a care in the world. Swaying to the music of the seventies, I was in love with the Beatles, the Guess Who, Gladys Knights and the Pips. I was young then, wrapped up in my thoughts about life and dreams of the future.
Decades later, I helped set the stage for my 17-year-old daughter's prom.
I took her to all the malls but Katie didn't like any of the dresses.
I was in a panic. The prom was in a week and Katie still didn't have something to wear. As a last resort, we drove out to a bridal salon on the outskirts of town. A friend had recommended it. Lots of nice dresses there, she said.
And yes, Katie found something she liked. A beautiful, peach gown with a shirred bodice highlighted with a sparkle of rhinestones. It was perfect. Except when we went to pay, we discovered the dress was on hold for someone else but inadvertently had been left back on the rack.
Katie was devastated. "I'm never going to find a dress."
That night, in desperation, I went up to the attic to look for that black velvet gown I had worn to my prom. I knew it wasn't anything like the peach dress we had seen in the bridal salon, but I hoped Katie would like it enough to wear to her prom.
I made my way to the corner of the attic where everything I owned before I got married was stored. Amid the boxes of clothes, yearbooks and assorted high-school memorabilia, I found the gown neatly folded in a dry-cleaner's box. Tucked alongside it lay the pink corsage, dried to a light brown colour with its white ribbon still intact.
I heard Katie coming up the stairs. "Mom, you up there?"
"Come, take a look." I motioned her over and pulled out some pictures of me when I was her age.
"Mom," she said, "is that you?"
Yes, it was me. With a dewy-faced image of innocence, I looked ready to take on the world. I flipped open the covers of my yearbooks. A montage of scribbled notes filled with best wishes and keep-in-touch sentiments from friends spilled from the pages.
I lifted the dress out of the box and handed it to Katie. "Come try this on."
Katie slipped the dress on. And it was a perfect fit. She waltzed around the cramped room filled with boxes and chairs, making believe she was on the dance floor with all her friends.
"I love this dress," she said.
I looked at Katie and my heart sighed at how fast she was growing up. She wasn't the shy little girl she used to be, the little girl who clung to my skirt at school when the bell rang to signal our departure. She had turned into a confident young woman who embraced every new step with curiosity and a sense of challenge.
Katie was heading to university in the fall. I was happy and excited for her, but fearful of losing a relationship that had always been within arm's length. It seemed even harder to let go when the time was creeping up so close. I didn't show it, but it seemed that our roles had reversed. I was the one clinging on, wondering if things would be the same again between us when she went away to school.
Katie and I ended up talking for hours. The topics of boys and career choices gave way to motherhood and babies. It seemed we had all the time in the world, a mother and her daughter reminiscing about life under a dim light hanging from the slant of an attic.
After everyone had gone to bed, I went back up to the attic to spend more time with the girl I once was, the girl with the shag haircut and bellbottom jeans whose face peered out between the arms of friends. I looked through the photo albums of Katie growing up and smiled as I envisioned her dancing the night away in my black velvet gown.
That night alone in the attic, I rested my fears of Katie leaving home for university by the same pile of stuff that had once helped me bloom into adulthood. Her future would be like mine, filled with excitement and challenges. And I looked forward to seeing those changes blossom as we each tucked away our prom days. I knew we would share them again at another landmark in our lives.
May Yeung lives in Markham, Ont.
Illustration by Sylvia Nickerson.
