Memory Documentation

chapter eight | documenting the phases of a dance

London put her hands on my shoulders and used the mirror to look me in the eyes. "Trust me."

"That's what you've been saying for days now. I'm afraid."

There. That devilish smile again. It was not reassuring. She spun the chair around, turning me away from the mirror, and said in a sing-song voice, "No peeking."

"London." I was serious. "Today is not the day to 'do it like you do.' If I hate it, we have no time to fix it." Chris was going to be by in around two hours, and I still had to do other things. Y'know, typical girl things, like shave, paint my nails, and suffer through plucking the underneath of my eyebrows. Plus, of course, dress and shoes.

She winked, saying again, "Trust. Me."

✿❀✿

I have watched many movies and shows where it lays out nights like tonight in a specific sequence of events. They're all same across the board. I felt like I was checking the box of each one as it happened.

Phase one: beautify. Complete.

London stuck to her word and did a beautiful warm shimmer eye-look to match with my dress. It was London's mission to find a dress that matched Chris's bowtie. I found it silly; she deemed it necessary. It was something she wouldn't let up on, but we were fortunate enough to find one that was both pretty and affordable. The blue tulle, pleated, floor-length dress matched perfectly, and I found it especially fun to twirl in. So much so that I spent a good twenty minutes twirling with Papa around the living room with it until he was tired.

When I was younger, I would stand on his toes as he would walk around the apartment. It was especially fun to do while he danced, listening to slow, old music from his day.

In progress was phase two: pictures. It wasn't as enjoyable as much as playing dress-up and make-up with London.

"Pa, please no more," I begged as light spots began to flitter around in my vision.

"At least these ones didn't come out blurry," London said as she inspected the pictures. Papa grinned over her shoulder, murmuring how "this one was nice but in this one she has to pick her head up some more."

"Great," I said with a huff. "Can we go?"

"Uh, no." London nodded her head towards the mantle. "Chris, you're up."

Chris, looking really quite dashing in his black suit and blue bow-tie, stood from his seat on the couch and complied without a word. I met him halfway and dropped my forehead onto his shoulder, groaning. "Dude, c'mon."

"You know who would kill if we didn't take some pictures? Jessica, who I did tell that you were my date to this dance," he replied. Knowing fully well that she'd probably go off on us about the need to document a memory that could very well slip from our minds years from now, I complied as well.

"All right, one more and . . ." Papa's smile widened. The flash went off and he began to chuckle. "Perfect bunny ears, Chris."

I brought my elbow back into his stomach and felt the satisfaction of him doubling over in a groan. "You suck. C'mon, let's go already."

There was still a bit of strain from the blow as he laughed. "Ah, at least I didn't lose my date."

I gave my final hugs to London and kisses to Papa and headed out the door, a promise of having me home by one thrown from over Chris's shoulder.

As the door closed behind me and I began to walk (much more confidently in my heels, after waltzing with Papa around the couch) towards the elevator, Chris took my hand to stop me. "Wait," he said.