Friday, March 5, 2010
We got the call, you were in tears
mascara running down your cheeks
we needed to pick you up, the chaperon said.
The dance had already begun
but your date was nowhere in sight.
What happened to that tall handsome
man in a tuxedo who met you at the door?
Weeks of preparation brought you to this night
your hair, hanging in long ringlets
glitter on your bare shoulders, and your silk gown
long and pretty, but something had gone terribly wrong.
You buried your face in your hands
your shoulders hunched and you sobbed
hard and angry, “What did he do?”we asked.
“He got drunk,” was all you said and then
wept uncontrollably mumbling about the cost,
loss of face, tomorrow’s gossip,
and a deep anger for being betrayed.
You wept until you fell asleep
but we sat there relieved by what happened,
however embarrassing for you, was easier to handle
than the alternatives; an accident, a beating, a rape.
We tried to comfort you as best we could.
Time would be the best healer and life would continue on
even though the night of your senior prom was a disaster.