I remember the morning after prom night. I woke up and found a way to weasel my way out of church. My parents nudged my leg, asking if I would be joining them. I gave them a grunt, and that was that. The congregation was only a drive down the hill from where we had lived. Since I was the Vice President of Senior Class, I had few responsibilities that I still had to tend to. I was scheduled to cleaning duties at The Landing Hotel, the site of prom. Come to think of it, I strayed away from anything remotely executive in my tenure as VP. In other words, I was just there for the ride. The venue at the Landing was its top floor, an executive type of suite that was meant for conferences of the brave souls that decided to come to Ketchikan. Just the other night, it was lit up by bright neon lights and booming bass that shook the decorations to their core. For the remainder of the minutes I had in bed, liminal moments in dream land, I played the previous evening in my mind before having to walk to the hotel, which was at the bottom of the hill where the street was closer to the water.
[filler about the previous night when the dance ended, and I had skateboarded with a dear friend in the dark streets of downtown Ketchikan. No epic missions to lift booze. No desperate attempts to lose my innocence. Insert having a smoke with a crush at the time. Make mention of carrying a bouquet of flowers from the remnants of the previous night. No wise moments]
After I cleaned up, I walked up the hill to my parents place. It was a steep hill. The road curved. It was a reminder of blurry nights I had had. I remembered the time I had almost crashed. I remembered grabbing for the steering wheel and getting us back on track. In my hands, I carried a bouquet of roses. Somehow in the midst of all that had been going on in my mind, I remembered that it was mother’s day. These were flowers that were the centerpieces of the round ruffled tables at prom. But before I returned home, I walked into the lot where the church my mother and father were singing hymnals. It was a little past 10, which meant that the offering was soon to take place. In the rock lot, feeling the unsteady pebbles rumble beneath me, I searched for their car. When I found it, I threw the flowers onto the windshield of my father’s Mercedes.
My phone rang.
“Where you at Kris?”
“I’m walking up the hill.”
“Do you want go to the Moon?”
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