A Christmas Prom
Why does it behave like that?
Why can’t it be normal?
Why do I have to hide it?
During the mornings I always ask the same questions but they do not have answers. My dad says that I’m unique and that cheers me up. My mother never says anything, I mean, I wish I knew her but she disappeared when I was five. At school I have to cover my hair because students will not understand that it doesn’t look like what they see daily around them. One day it behaves properly, another it doesn’t. Colors come out according to my mood, and the way I feel at the moment. I think my destiny has to do with something else but for me that moment concerns shame.
The first time I realized the thing above my hair was able to change colors was in kindergarten. During the second break I was playing outside when some of the kids stared at me fixedly. They were surprised by the way my hair turned purple. I was frightened and ran to the bathroom. I used water to help me hide what they had witnessed was an effect of sun exposure.
At home, I was told that red, purple, yellow, etc. were related to emotions. I could be angry and dark blue may emerge, in a quiet emotional stage I would see sky blue. All of the rainbow color would be present and had an intrinsic relationship to my mind. As a piece of advice, wearing a wig was useful in case some people may be scared or something.
Time passed and I am in my last high school year. The prom dance is taking place next week and I’m still struggling with the choosing of my dress. I’m also worried that most girls got their invitation. In my class there are three boys who have already been invited. The place I usually spend my afternoons is the school library. The day before the formal dance I plucked up the courage and asked a boy who I frequently encountered in the history section. He was as nervous as me, but he accepted. Happiness lasted for a moment because the colors focused my attention. It would be a night full of experiences and intensity would be reflected along my hair.
In the morning of the big day, my dad placed a new wig on my desk with a note that says: “I’m proud of you beautiful daughter.” I cry a bit and then go to school. In the afternoon I have a shower and get changed. As my father has to work until 9 pm, he cannot be but he promised to be at the dance floor. I don’t get emotional and wear my dress. I hope mum could see me, why has she gone?
I hear someone knocking at the door, and go downstairs. I open the door and in front of me there’s a handsome boy who I barely recognise. Oh gosh, he had his haircut done. You look beautiful, he says. Thank you, I reply and blush. He leads me to his mother’s car. As limousines are expensive to rent, his mother offered to be our chauffeur. In the car John’s mother and I talk, she’s so charming. John wants some sweets that we stop at a grocery store. His mother is happy that her son attends the prom. “I was worried that he would spend the night in his bedroom,” she says. “Don’t mention it. My plan may have been the same, but I decided to ask him to come.” I replied. “Your mum must be proud of you.” “I hope so, but she left my dad and I when I was a baby.” She hugs me and says if I sometimes need someone to talk about girls’ issues, I can visit her.
We enter the school and there are our classmates and friends. They dress in smart clothes. We go to the dance floor. “I don’t know how to dance,” I say. John mentions he has watched some tutorials on the Internet. He takes my hand and proceeds with the first step, we laugh, and have fun. He doesn’t care what students say, he just wants to enjoy the moment.
After the crowning dance, John expresses his feelings by explaining he has fallen in love since we met at the school library. I want to say the same, but there’s something he should know about me. “I like you too, but let’s go outside.” Doubtful, he follows me.
“What is it?” He is worried. I take off my wig and reveal the real me. The color of my hair looks like a red similar to a ruby. Silence takes place before he says something. I’m looking at the floor when I feel his hand touching my hair. “I like you no matter what color your hair turns.” After that, he puts a tiara made of white sweets on my head. “Now you are wearing the most perfect Christmas hat.” We hug so tight. I’m about to cry when he kisses me on the cheek. We get back to the prom, our hands are connected. Some people stare at us. “Don’t worry,” he exclaims. Sophie and Mark, they are our friends, are astonished. Sophie mentions that my new style matches my personality, and Mark that I’m cool. The rest of the night I don’t mind if I’m observed.
Dad gets to the secondary school and is surprised that I’m not wearing the wig. He congratulated me on being so brave. Who is the gentleman? He asks. John, the marvelous boy. They converse while I realize that eyes on me take some minutes, then people continue with their lives.
Our parents shake hands and have a brief talk in the car. John and I highlight the moments along the night. Like the teacher of English dancing with the miss of French. We knew they disliked each other but the night was magic that changed our perspective. Bringing us good vibes, allowing me to think of my future. The upcoming adventure, university.
Regarding the opening questions, they guide, they help me comprehend that life is more than how you see people. Tonight I’m not only ending a stage of my life, but I’m also accepting myself. It’s amazing how Christmas brings joy and hope, but for me it’s the time of the year when embracing originality matters. Merry Christmas.
