It had been a dream, after all. He recognized the mystery girl now that he was awake. It was her, the girl who had sobbed her heart out at his bedside the day before. The girl he hadn’t been able to remember. Margaret. Maggie. In the dream she hadn’t worn glasses, but it was her. The prom had been real though -- down to the smallest detail. He remembered it all clearly. After all, it had only been a few months ago. He stopped himself then. According to him, that is. It wasn’t 1958 anymore. Jillian Bailey said it was now March 5, 2011. That would make Prom 1958 an event that had happened almost fifty three years ago.
He had taken Peggy Wilkey. She’d worn a pink strapless gown that displayed her generous cleavage to perfection. Carter had just about died when he had seen her, and he had spent the whole night trying to woo her, despite the fact that he was supposed to be showing his frumpy cousin a good time. It was all the same as in the dream: the people, the fishing nets and glittering starfish, the discomfort of his tie and his wish to be free of it. All of it the same….except for the girl, except for Maggie. Funny, in his dream she had been wearing the dress Irene Honeycutt had worn. He remembered that dress. Nobody else had worn red. Pastels were the flavor of the occasion, and Irene had shown up in that little number and tongues had wagged and wagged. Irene had wilted under the scrutiny. He had thought she looked wonderful, but apparently she wished she had chosen differently.
In his dream, Irene had worn a fluffy peach dress with little bejeweled straps. He had danced with her, just like he had in real life. The song was even the same. Just the dress was different. Strange, that. Why would his subconscious mind dress Maggie in Irene’s dress and place her at the prom? He could still see her, standing there with her long hair and that red dress, like she had become part of the memory.
***
“He doesn’t remember me,” Maggie spoke the words that had been bottled up inside her since she had been released from the hospital the morning before. “It’s like none of it ever happened, Gus. It’s like he fell from the balcony in 1958 and woke up in 2011. The years in Purgatory are gone, wiped away – and the only thing that’s left is the time that passed while he was there.” Maggie and Gus bounced along in Gus’s old truck, Gus at the wheel, Maggie leaning against the passenger door, staring out into the late afternoon sky.
They were alone for the first time since she’d arrived home. Irene had sent them to the store to pick up a couple of things for dinner, and Shad was out with some new friends. His star had risen since he’d survived the fire at the school. He’d been invited to several parties and been begged time and time again to share his tale. He and Gus had agreed to leave Johnny’s part in the story out of the retelling. In Shad’s story, he’d forced his way out of the locker, only to collapse before he’d exited the school. His grandpa then acquired hero status when he had found Shad and carried him out to fresh air and safety.
Gus reached over and grabbed Maggie’s hand, holding it tightly in his. He didn’t say anything; he just held her hand. His sweet gesture was her undoing. Maggie felt the dam burst, the disappointment and disbelief pouring out as the tears came. Gus pulled to the side of the road, threw the truck into park, and pulled her close. He wrapped his arms around her and soothed her with a gentle, “there, there, Miss Margaret.”
“I….th-thought it…it…w-was a mir-miracle,” Maggie gulped, clinging to Gus’s wiry arm.
“It is,” Gus responded quietly. “It is a miracle.”
“No it-it…isn’t,” Maggie struggled to push herself upright, to look into Gus’s face. “It’s just another form of purgatory…don’t y-you see? It’s a n-nightmare for J-Johnny.” Maggie scrubbed her face, trying to make the tears stop flowing. She breathed in and out several times, fighting for dominion over her despair. She didn’t speak until she felt exhaustion start to douse her raging emotions, and her tears slowed to a stop.
“You know how they say be careful what you wish for?” Her voice was so soft it was amazing Gus even heard.
But he did hear, and he nodded, his dark eyes full of sympathy.
“I wished so hard that Johnny could have a second chance….that we would have a chance. I think I made it happen, just by force of will. Now the universe is laughing…and I am once again the butt of the joke.”
“I think sometimes we do make things happen….just by wantin’ ‘em bad enough. That doesn’t mean things is gonna be easy, though, even when you get what you want. Life is work, girl. Love is work. Plus, fallin’ in love is fun. Ain’t nothin’ like it. Just think, you get to fall in love with Johnny all over again.”
“I never fell out of love with Johnny.”
“But you’re acting like it’s over,” he rebuked softly. “Love isn’t pretty, Miss Margaret. I think that’s why so many people don’t make it. They don’t appreciate the hard times. They expect it to be all airbrushed and touched up like the pictures you see in them magazine ads. Why, just the other day, I was looking at some pictures in a magazine my daughter Malia left laying around.”
“Gus!”
Gus leveled a look at Maggie that had her biting her lip and trying not to laugh, as heartsick as she was.
“There was an article showing how they made the models in the pictures look a certain way. They trimmed off a little weight here and there, touched up a blemish, even made their womanly assets look bigger, and when it was all done, the woman didn’t even look like a woman anymore!”
“Womanly assets?”
“You know what I mean, Miss Margaret,” Gus chided. “They made the woman look like a doll - all fake and plastic, with her face painted on.” Gus sighed dramatically, as if someone had taken a marker to the pages of his Bible. “When my wife Mona got cancer, she lost a lot of weight. She used to have beautiful curves and thick curly hair. Her hair fell out when she went through chemo. She cried and told me she didn’t think I would love her anymore.” Gus’s voice had grown soft, and his eyes were bright with the painful memories.