This piece was first published in Quarto’s 2020 Spring Print Edition.
Illustration by Gisela Levy
“I think the prom should be fairy-tale themed, with woodland creatures,” Kelsey says. “Or we could do royalty. Like, princesses and princes.” She is outvoted. It is our senior prom, after all, and we want a theme that reflects our elevated, mature tastes. The administration won’t allow Vampire Prom, but surely, they will let Old People Prom go through. We can’t remember who suggested it anymore, but we all agree that it is a genius idea, that if they won’t let us wear fangs and pretend to suck each other’s blood, we will rebel against the inherent sexuality of promitself, bare toothless gums at each other, dance to fifties swing under the pale, nursing-home lights.
“We can have fruit cake,” Ashley, who is in charge of prom committee, says. “And like, weird, chalky cookies.” Ashley talks a lot at these meetings, but most of the time, we let her. She has great ideas, and a new Marxist Boyfriend who doesn’t believe in equal distribution of time speaking in their conversations.
“I can probably get a live oldies band,” Chloe says. She planned Vampire Prom, but we admire how quickly she has switched tacks.
Poor Kelsey. Don’t worry—she will make a good old person soon enough.
“Do you want some punch?” Kelsey’s Grandma’s friend Cheryl asks her. It takes Kelsey a second to realize it is actually Ashley under all of her old people garb. The Prom has begun.
“I’m okay,” Kelsey says, and fiddles with her reading glasses. It feels hot with the student body crashing down all around her, moshing their wrinkled bodies, pounding canes and walkers on the gym floor.
“Are we friends?” Ashley says suddenly.
“I think so?” Kelsey says. “We were lab partners?”
“Oh. I was never sure.”
“Well,” Kelsey says. “If we weren’t now, we can be.”
“Okay,” Ashley says, as if unconvinced. She leaves the punch bowl to go talk to Chloe, who barely looks Old at all, and might never look any older, like she could loom in the background of high school proms for decades to come. We aren’t sure if we are friends with Ashley either, but it is too late to ask. High school is over; this is the last, best night of our lives.
Old People Prom will go down in history. A group of girls gets drunk off of bottles of cooking wine and throw up in the bathroom. At least two couples get married. We think one person has died, but find him much later, splayed out on the back lawn— he has only thrown his hip out. Kelsey finds herself in the musical theater prop closet with a boy who was in her chemistry class. They stack old mattresses one on top of another, floral/ribbed/faded/white/eggshell/dusty. Springs bulging out of the sides like the dents of misshapen bellies. Kelsey thinks she feels something hard and wrinkled and hopeful underneath her and the sighing mattress tummies. It might be a pea, but she is Old and older now, and doesn’t stop to check.
At 10 p.m., Old People Prom comes to an end. The gym clears out, people go home. One or two of us might ask about afterparties, but there aren’t any. It is 10 PM. Our joints hurt, and we are tired.