Slow Dance in Purgatory

“It’s probably because you’re new, dear. And you’re so beautiful. Sometimes the beautiful girls don’t get asked because it’s assumed they already have a date, and sometimes the boys are intimidated by them.” Now Aunt Irene was babbling.

“Somehow, I don’t think my beauty is the problem, Aunt Irene,” Maggie replied wryly. “Most of the kids at school haven’t noticed me at all, and if they have, it’s not for my stunning good looks.” The incident in the hallway several weeks ago flashed into her brain. Yep, those boys definitely weren’t intimidated by her beauty – her backpack maybe, but not her looks. The memory made her all the more depressed and brought Johnny’s absence raging to the forefront of her mind once more. Shoving thoughts of him to the back of her brain, she smiled wanly at her aunt.

“Harrumph,” Aunt Irene sniffed her disagreement. “I don’t know about that, Margaret. Now, what can I do to help you? I’ve got dinner made, and you can eat first or wait until after you bathe. And what are you going to wear dear? I could press your dress if you need ?” Aunt Irene paused and raised her white eyebrows expectantly.

The thought of Aunt Irene, who had been raised with servants and housekeepers, making Maggie’s dinner and pressing her non-existent dress made Maggie want to weep for entirely different reasons. She leaned over and kissed her aunt’s baby smooth cheek. Irene smelled like rose petals. Maggie felt the lump in her throat swell once again.

“Well, I really don’t know what I’m wearing, Auntie. The dance is semi-formal, and I don’t seem to have anything that fits the bill. I wasn’t going to go at all, but my dance captain said I have to take tickets…” Maggie stopped abruptly, knowing that if she continued, she would lose her grip on her already crumbling control.

Aunt Irene pursed her lips prettily and tapped them with her left pointer finger. “I might have something that would work, Margaret. You go get cleaned up, and I will see what I can come up with.”

Maggie cringed inwardly. She could just hear Dara now. “Where did you get that dress, Baggie? It looks like something my grandmother would wear – sooo hot!!” Still, what Aunt Irene offered couldn’t be any worse than having nothing at all.

Maggie dragged herself to the bathroom dejectedly and put herself through the ritual of many a teenage girl. She was almost done blowing her long hair dry, when her aunt rapped smartly on the door.

“Maggie! Come see what I’ve found. Hurry! You’re running out of time.”

Maggie’s bed was covered in dress bags. Hope bloomed in her chest, and Maggie loosened the belt on her old pink robe as Irene began pulling down zippers right and left.

“Now this one was one I wore…“ Irene prattled about this dress and that as Maggie stepped into one dress after another. Several were very pretty, and most fit her very well. A few were too old for her, a few just too old, but when she slid a sleeveless sky blue A-line over her head and felt the skirt swish around her legs, Maggie’s heart soared. The mirror reflected back a dress that was simple enough in design and color that it still worked. It looked vintage not dated, and that suited Maggie just fine. It made the color of her eyes stand out, and her dark hair was a rich contrast to the pale blue. It fit perfectly. Her breasts filled out the fitted top, her waist looked tiny, and her arms and legs looked slim and toned.

“Oh, Maggie!” Irene clapped her hands like a young girl. “That dress was made for you. Granted! It was made over 50 years ago, but even still! I wore that to the homecoming dance when I was seventeen. I think I still have the matching pumps!” Irene flew from the room to closets unknown, and Maggie reverently smoothed the gauzy, full skirt. The thought of attending the dance now filled her with excitement instead of dread.

Maggie carefully peeled the dress over her head and reverently zipped it back into its protective sheath. Irene did indeed have the matching pumps, still in perfect condition, and wonder of wonders, even their feet were the same size. Maggie had some little diamond hoops that used to be her mothers, and she tucked them carefully into her duffle bag with her dance things. Twenty minutes later, she was on her way back to the school in Irene’s Cadillac. It seemed she had a fairy godmother after all.

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