Prom Night in Purgatory

Johnny reached into his front pocket and pulled out a silver pendant hanging from a long chain.

 

“When I was in high school, guys would give these to their girls. I’ve been thinking about it since Gus told us about his grandma and the Saint Christopher medal she always wore. I want you to wear it. Maybe it will help keep you safe.” Johnny held the pendant in his palm. It was silver and dainty, a weary traveler with a walking stick and a child on his back engraved in fine detail on the surface. Circling the edge were the words ‘Saint Christopher Protect Us.’

 

“Does this mean I’m finally your girl?” Maggie tried to be glib, but her voice was reverent as she fingered the pretty little pendant.

 

Johnny laughed and gently fastened the long chain around Maggie’s neck. Smoothing her hair back over her shoulders, he touched his lips to hers again.

 

“Thank you, Johnny.” Maggie cradled his face in her hands and brushed her lips up and then down, answering his questioning kisses with her own. Then she touched her tongue lightly to his fuller bottom lip. He stilled, and her breath caught. He returned the caress lightly, tasting the salt of her tears and the warmth and silkiness of her mouth. And then the restraint was gone. Her hands slid into his hair as he wrapped hers around his fists, pulling her head back to give him a better angle on her lips. The door met her back as he pushed her against it, using it as leverage to bring her closer. She rained kisses along his jaw until he growled and pulled her mouth back to his. One hand flexed at her waist while the other palm flattened on the door above her. And then the other hand joined it as he tried to push himself from her while still keeping his lips locked on hers. She moved to follow, but his hands slid to her shoulders and gently kept her pressed against the door. He kissed her once more, and then again, as if he couldn’t pull himself from her. With a groan, he broke away, his hands holding her still, his eyes locked on hers, as he tried to master his desire.

 

“Irene is downstairs. Or upstairs...or...right outside...who knows. I have to go right now or I’ll end up dragging you out the door and having my way with you in the Bel Air, which isn’t what good guys do, and though I’ve never pretended to be one of the good guys, I want to be one with you.”

 

Maggie didn’t respond. She wished he weren’t such a good guy at the moment. She wished that she wasn’t tempted to run to the Bel Air like the bad girl she had never been. Her eyes dropped to his mouth, and she pushed against the hands still keeping her from him.

 

“Maggie...” he groaned again, and her eyes snapped back to his.

 

“You better go,” she giggled, biting her lip. “I can’t promise that Bonnie won’t attack Clyde.”

 

He laughed but grabbed at the doorknob desperately, releasing her as he did. She let him go but followed close behind him as he walked down the stairs. He reached back and grabbed her hand, and the gesture almost had her in tears again. Life had suddenly become so impossibly sweet she couldn’t keep the joy from overflowing.

 

At the door he didn’t kiss her again, which was probably wise, but he did press his lips to her hand. “In case you missed it before, I’d love to go to the prom with you, although I don’t think I can dance to your music.” He grimaced.

 

“We’ll think of something.” Maggie smiled. “After all, you had to teach me to dance to your music.”

 

“‘Night, my Bonnie,” he murmured and let himself out the door.

 

“Goodnight, Johnny,” she sighed, and watched him leave.

 

When Maggie shut the front door, Irene was nowhere in sight. Maggie hoped she wouldn’t find her in the attic, madly trying to recapture her lost youth. Instead, Maggie found her in her little yellow sitting room, Lizzie’s old bedroom, holding a book as if she were reading, but staring off as if her mind were full of other things.

 

“Irene?”

 

“Is Johnny gone?” Irene looked almost fearful.

 

“Yes.” Maggie sat down on the little sofa next to her aunt, and reached out to touch her papery soft cheek.

 

“I love you, Irene. I don’t think I tell you that enough.”

 

Irene’s book fell to her lap, and her hand reached up to cover Maggie’s.

 

“I love you too, sweetest girl,” Irene murmured, patting the hand that Johnny had recently kissed. She looked away almost immediately, as if something troubled her but she didn’t want to unburden herself.

 

The joy that had been flooding Maggie only minutes before receded dramatically as she observed her aunt’s obvious distress.

 

“I love him too, Irene,” Maggie rarely called her aunt by her name but felt compelled to do so now, to drive home the importance of her words.

 

“Yes....yes...I know,” Irene stammered. “I know Maggie. It’s not that....”

 

“What then?”

 

“I had a dream. I thought it was a dream...” Irene’s voice tapered off, and Maggie felt a cold dread seep through her.

 

“When I saw you in that dress the other morning, I was almost too stunned to speak....but, I’ve been thinking about it since then.”

 

“About the dream?” Maggie whispered.

 

“It wasn’t a dream!” Irene lashed out, dropping Maggie’s hand and covering her face with her own. Maggie trembled at the sudden change in her aunt and was afraid to touch her again -- afraid her touch might be rebuffed.

 

Irene was breathing heavily behind her hands, the harsh sounds making Maggie’s hair stand up on her neck.

 

“It was you!” Irene cried in a horrified whisper. “You were the girl at the dance with Johnny, the girl who told me to get rid of Roger.” She moaned into her hands. “I don’t know how it was you. But it was! I saw your face in my dream. You were wearing my dress! How did you get my dress? I remember it now, so clearly -- as if it just happened today and not fifty three years ago.”

 

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