Chapter 13

Within a day or two, my fate was fixed; seemingly Mom and Dad had simply made up their minds, without further consulting me, that Chrissy and I would be attending prom as a couple. Mom and Chrissy were planning to go shopping for a dress that weekend. On Friday morning I gave in to the inevitable and went to the table near the school entrance to buy a pair of prom tickets. It wasn’t as simple as I’d imagined. There was a permission slip, which surprised me – I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had to get my parents to sign something for school. Worse, there was a “guest form” that had to be filled out if your date wasn’t from the school. That posed a problem: I couldn’t very well put Chrissy’s full name on the form, especially as our family name was fairly distinctive. Furthermore, the form had to be signed by the non-student’s parents. I took the forms home and consulted Mom, pointing out that I didn’t really want anyone at school knowing that Chrissy was my sister. Mom laughed and said, “Don’t worry about it.” She filled in: “Attendee’s name: Chrissy Baboulis.” Baboulis was Mom’s maiden name. Then she signed the form, again using her maiden name, dated it, and handed it back. “Problem solved.” Dad signed my form, using our family name, and wrote a check for the two tickets. He commented: “I’m glad you’re doing this, son. You’ll have a lot of fun. We’ll head down to Jock’s soon to fit you for a tux, OK?” Jock’s was a formal wear company in town. The packet I’d picked up at school had an advertisement for tux rental from a place that, I guess, the school hand contracted with for a discount in exchange for advertising, but Dad was adamant: “No, we’ll definitely go to Jock’s. He’ll take care of you.” Dad owned various fancy outfits; it went along with being a musician, I guess. “Renting a tux is silly, anyway. We can buy something that looks really good on you for not that much more, and you’ll be able to use it all your life. You’re pretty much done growing, I hope — or I won’t be able to afford to feed you anymore.” That was another tired old joke of his.

Dad called first thing next morning and made an appointment. I heard him on the phone: “Hey, Jock, how’s it hangin’? ... Yeah, no, can you believe it, it’s my son Alex. You remember him? All grown up now, big tall fellow. Can’t hardly believe it, but he’s got his prom coming up!” There was a pause. “Yep, I can imagine. Well, could you fit us in maybe next weekend?” “Great, great! Look, I’m thinking, maybe we’ll just buy it. Alex’s off to college in the fall” – “yeah, seriously, he’s a smart kid. I’m sure he’ll have formal events from time to time. Keep something good in stock for us, will ya?” In the meantime, Mom and Chrissy went on Saturday morning to pick out a dress, and came back late in the evening loaded down with shopping bags, looking conspiratorial. They’d apparently made a day of it, having lunch out and everything. I’d never seen them look so much like a mother and daughter you might read about in a book; they’d clearly had a fun day together. They made a funny-looking pair though, Chrissy shortish and round in all the right places, Mom tall and thin with angular features. Later that evening, I asked Chrissy to show the dress to me and she looked scandalized. “You’re not allowed to see it until the night of, Alex! Besides, I don’t have it yet, obviously. It needs to get altered. We’re picking it up in two weeks.” Oh. I didn’t know how that worked.

Buying a tux turned out to operate on similar principles. Next Saturday morning, Dad and I went down to Jock’s, a somewhat dusty, claustrophobic little store with seemingly endless racks of suits and jackets. I definitely did not feel in my element, but Dad and Jock joked around like old friends, which I guess they were; I thought I recognized him from a party at our house years ago. Jock sized me up, chatted a bit with Dad, and finally brought out an outfit. I took one look at it and was horrified; I couldn’t imagine wearing it; it seemed garish to me. I tried to moderate my reaction. “Couldn’t we ... couldn’t it be maybe, a little more, I don’t know ... less ... conspicuous?” I cringed inwardly; I sounded like an idiot. But Jock seemed to understand where I was coming from. “Hmm, so, something a little more traditional perhaps. All right, just try this on anyway, Alex, so I can get a quick idea of how it fits. Then we’ll look at some other pieces.” I looked around for a dressing room, didn’t see one. “Where do I...?” Dad waved vaguely at a three-sided mirror on the far end of the shop. I was shocked. Surely I wasn’t supposed to just take off my clothes out in the open? But he and Jock were talking about Jock’s family, and paying little attention to me. Finally I just picked up the suit and took it over to the mirror. There was a chair and a small table and I took off my shoes then, looking over to make sure that I wasn’t committing a huge faux pas, slowly removed my jeans, hiding my lower half as best I could behind the table, pulled on the trousers, which were much too long and big around the waist, and then, trying to hold them up, fussed with the upper half of the outfit. I cleared my throat, and Jock came over, Dad right behind him. He didn’t seem too concerned that the trousers were comically oversized. “Hmm,” he said. “Let’s try something else.”

What followed felt like an ordeal. I loathed getting undressed, even partially undressed, in front of people, even my dad; the table afforded some privacy, but not much. And there was one outfit after another, each of them feeling more ridiculous to me than the last, though Jock – and Dad – were enthusiastic about a few of them. I wasn’t sure if it was the outfits or me, but I was about to apologize for wasting everyone’s time when Jock said, “Hmm. I have an idea.” He brought out a dark grey suit that, laid out on the table, didn’t seem very promising to me. After putting it on, I changed my opinion. I looked ... distinguished, was the first word that came to mind. The suit wasn’t a tux in the classic sense, but it certainly wasn’t the sort of thing you’d wear to an office either. It made me look taller, I thought, gazing at myself in the mirror. It made me feel taller, and older. Even though I was still wearing a T-shirt under the jacket, I felt like this clothing somehow transformed me from a boy into a man. It gave me a feeling of confidence I’d almost never had before: I wasn’t fooling myself, I looked really good. Absurdly, I felt myself hardening a little as I admired my reflection, panicked, and fought desperately to keep myself from getting a full-on erection in front of Dad and Jock. They didn’t notice my discomfiture. Jock was smiling, and Dad looked ... impressed. Finally, he spoke: “Alex, this one looks pretty good on you, you know? Chr...” He stopped himself abruptly, but I thought I knew approximately what he had been about to say. I nodded mutely. Jock chimed in: “I thought it might work.” Dad said, “All right, it’s settled. We’ll take it.” Jock whipped out a measuring tape and chalk and performed a seemingly endless series of operations, marking and taking a few notes, and then asked me try on a matching vest and some accessories. Finally, the “ordeal” was over, and Dad and Jock walked to the front of the store to finish the sale while I changed back into my jeans, leaving the suit respectfully arranged on the table. “It’ll be ready in a week,” promised Jock as we left. I was a bit exhausted but also excited by the prospect of wearing the suit in front of Chrissy. And the world.