The night of the dance, I wear a dress and a binder, neither of which you have seen me in. I attempt makeup, hiding the worst of the splotches and scars on my face and emphasizing the eyes you thought were intense. 'Tiger Lily,' you call me on account of them.
You are stunning without trying.
The night passes in a blur of lights and sound. Moments stuck in my memory.
We dance for the first and last time; your hand is on my waist and my arm wraps around your shoulders and everyone is watching but I don't mind, because we're part of a circle of seventeen people singing a spontaneous a capella cover of Bohemian Rhapsody.
Your feet hurt from dancing so we sit on a table in the courtyard. The moon rises; there is no wind. I adjust my binder and you look away momentarily; I take the opportunity to study how your square-frame glasses cast the moonlight over your face. Your phone buzzes, you blush, I ask what happened and you show me a text from your mom: 'Give your girlfriend a kiss for me!' We talk about how we might make that happen in a dark corner of the courtyard, only partly joking. I notice you slip a piece of mint gum into your mouth but say nothing.
There is a photo booth across from us, a glowing inflatable room that looks for all the world like a Rubik's Cube. The colors change, and when the side closest to us is pink, yellow and blue, we point out that 'hey, it's pan pride colors' simultaneously.
We can request songs to dance to. I've spent the past half hour coming up with the perfect song for us, one you've never heard but I think you might like, but then you have to go and I hug you goodbye, knowing I missed my chance. I have not yet told you I love you. As it turns out, I never get to.
YOU ARE READING
Moments Captured, Moments Lost
Non-FictionI count the heartbeats, hollow, empty, as silence passes. You turn away, shrug, and toss the piece of me I entrusted you with back at my feet in a crumpled ball. It's over. Told through snapshots, fraught with emotion, and entirely true, this is th...
