Chapter 8: Prom

Prom was being held on Saturday, May 6th, at the Best Western Hotel downtown, probably because they had the largest ballroom. Graduation for seniors was scheduled for Saturday, May 20th in the school auditorium, and the last day of school for everyone else was Friday, May 26th.

Mom and I found a nice dress at Herberger's in the mall — they're like JC Penney on steroids, with prices to match. With the matching purse and heels, the price tag was just under $350.00. A new bra and panty set in pale blue to match the dress cost me another $52.00. It was a knee-length full-skirted taffeta number with spaghetti straps; I still didn't have enough up top to chance a strapless gown. I started to get ready Friday the 5th.

Mom and I were in the bathroom together; I was in the tub soaking in warm water, and she was laying out nail polish and other things I'd need. I was going to moisturize from head to toe and shave my legs from the knee down; because of the dress style, I'd have to shave under my arms, too.

I shaved in the tub while Mom took her shower, and we both finished about the same time. I stood in the tub to dry off and let Mom have what room there was in front of the vanity; her bathroom wasn't much bigger than mine.

As I stepped out and wrapped the towel around me, Mom asked, "Can I do your nails for you?"

"Moisturizer first," I nodded.

Mom did my back and the back of my legs, and then I returned the favor and did hers. I folded my towel, sat on the edge of the tub and put one foot on her knee so she could do my toenails; she began by giving me a quick pedicure.

"You've got to keep your nails short so your feet won't hurt in your new shoes," she said.

I leaned back against the wall and said, "Mmmm, that feels good."

She laughed and said, "You're spoiled."

She was doing my second foot when she said, "This reminds me of when you were little."

"How so?" I asked.

"Children need all sorts of things done for them until they're old enough to do for themselves; cutting their nails, trimming hair, teaching them hygiene and so on."

"Was I hard to train?" I asked.

"No more so than any other child, I guess, "she said.

A question I'd wanted to ask for ages popped into my mind. "After me, did you and Dad try again, or was I too much to handle?"

Mom stopped painting my nails and froze for a few seconds. "I got pregnant two more times."

I leaned forward and put my hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

She started stroking polish on my nails once more, acting as if she hadn't heard me.

"You were so tiny," she said. "I could put your head in the palm of my hand and your little bottom didn't reach my elbow. You only weighed six pounds. For the first month, I fed you every three or four hours."

"Was I a bottle baby?"

Mom laughed. "Oh no! You latched onto my nipples and wouldn't let go. I breastfed you until you were almost two."

"Why?" I asked.

"We were living on base in Florida then, and I didn't trust the water. You liked juice, especially apple, but you didn't care for a bottle. You liked my boobs best."

I blushed pink, suddenly conscious of a wonderful intimacy. She finished my foot and lowered it to the floor, staring into space.

"I loved you," she said with a shaky voice. " I kissed you, I held you, I cleaned your messy diapers and I fed you. It's what Moms do."

She wiped her eyes, stepped to the vanity and lowered her head, bracing her arms on the sink. I stood and closed the gap between us, cuddling her close. I was nude and so was she; the skin-to-skin contact was thrilling and frightening. I put my arms around her middle and pressed my breasts against her back.

"I love you," I said. "I always have. You're my best friend in the whole wide world."

She blew her snotty nose and tried to laugh; it sounded like she was choking. I held her until she regained her composure and turned to face me, putting her hands on my hips.

She tipped her head and shyly asked, "Why?"

I thought for a moment and said, "Because you've never lied to me, because you let me make my own mistakes but you always watched over me; you were always as close as a phone call. And you trusted me to tell you the truth — I did, most of the time — and you treated me like an adult. I guess the biggest thing is, you were always honest in answering my questions."

She leaned back and pulled me against her body, wrapping her arms around my waist. From kneecaps to breasts, I was molded to her like a second skin. She kissed my forehead. I felt my nipples wrinkle up and closed my eyes.

"So you think I did okay with you?"

I kissed her cheek. "There's no better Mom anywhere," I assured her.

She stood a little straighter and gently broke contact.

As she walked out of the bathroom she said, "I'll wait for you in your room."

I brushed my hair while I waited for the nail polish to dry; I was having it done at a salon the following afternoon. Evan knew the color of the dress so the flowers would match, and we'd be going in my car. I think I finally understood why my mother gave me such freedom, way more than other kids my age.

I wrapped a towel around me and walked into my room — Dad was home, sitting on the couch in front of the TV — and saw Mom handling my dress.

"Come here, sweetie, let's try this on and show your dad."

I stepped into the panties and pulled them up, then put on my bra. Mom held the dress and I wiggled my bottom past a tight spot; she zipped up the back. The bodice was too tight with the bra, so I took it off and pulled up the front of the dress again and tied the straps.

"What if I fall out?" I asked.

"Wouldn't be the first time something like that's happened," she grinned.

I swished it around, letting it fall free and twirled to get the petticoats straight. "Let's go, I'm ready."

Dad was smiling and appreciative of how I looked, complimenting me on my choice. He took a picture or two, and then I put the dress back in the box and got ready for bed. I was in my pajamas reading when I heard a soft knocking on my door.

I put down my book and said, "Come in."

Mom poked her head around the doorframe and asked, "Got a minute?"

I smiled. "Sure."

She sat on the end of my bed with her hands in her lap, thinking for a moment or two.

"You brought back some painful memories tonight..."

I interrupted her and said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."

"I know that, Hani. There's not a mean bone in your body. You brought back some very nice memories too; you didn't mean any harm."

I scooted closer and held her hand. "What was I like as a kid?"

"Oh," she sniffed, "intensely curious and always busy with something; happy, usually, unless you were hungry or tired. Perfectly normal in every way."

"Are you okay with..." All of a sudden I couldn't say the words, 'me being gay'. I waved my hand in the air, unable to open my mouth.

She nodded solemnly. "I've always let you make up your mind. Your life is not mine to live, no matter how much I fear for your happiness and safety. Sometimes we just have to take things as they come."

I nodded, grateful she was my mother, and slightly ashamed of myself for not saying anything sooner.

She chuckled and smiled, an unusual combination. "I was your first lover."

I laughed. "What?" I asked.

"When you were eight or nine months old, I used to blow raspberries on your tummy to make you laugh."

"And?"

"I tickled you, I kissed your little bottom —when it was clean, of course — and I used to touch you all over. I couldn't believe how lucky I was, having this little person entrusted to my care. You had such tiny toes and fingers, not much bigger than a pencil at first; I used to wonder whose breasts you'd inherit. Your ears were just little pink seashells, so cute."

"Whose boobs did I get?" I asked.

She sighed. "Mine, I guess."

I looked at my chest and said, "I don't think I got cheated; they're fine."

She patted my hand and said, "You're very kind."