34 - Samantha
A week after the play, I’m in my dark room finishing up some photography stuff for Yearbook. The play resulted in a lot of much-needed catch up and new pictures to develop. I’ve had to rig up an extra clothesline because I’m trying desperately to get some film developed and photos dried for this week’s meeting. Not to mention I have a serious headache and if the dark room doesn’t help, I’ll have to lie down. I’m not in the mood to go to bed.
Knock! Knock! Someone raps on the door.
What time is it anyway? I look at my wrist, but I’m not wearing my watch. I didn’t think Roxy could be home yet. “Yeah?” I call out.
“Hey, baby? It’s me.”
“Hang on, I’m developing. Give me a minute, ok?”
“Sure.”
Shoot. Double shoot. Phillip stands right there waiting. I finish straightening up. I wasn’t doing much now anyway except avoiding the light. I’m in a stubborn mood and don’t want to sleep my day away because of a temperamental headache. And I’m not ready for Phillip either. I wish he’d go downstairs so I can have a moment to tidy myself up. If I look half as bad as I feel, I’ll mortify him. I’m not as good at concealing how bad I feel as I’d like to be. Phillip picks up on all my tells. You know when people play cards and they try to bluff the other players, but certain actions give them away every time? Yeah, those are tells and Phillip knows all of mine.
“Can you make us some slushies?” I ask through the door, trying to coax him to the kitchen so I can check myself in the mirror.
“Sam?” His voice is more insistent this time. “What’s wrong? Why are you stalling?” He jiggles the handle nervously, but I have it locked.
“I’m coming.” I take in a slow breath and let it out trying to calm down. My head still hurts but what am I gonna do? I undo the lock and Phillip jerks the door open causing me to squint tightly. I put my hand up to shade my eyes as they adjust.
“Samantha? Are you ok?” I nod yes but the truth is I feel like crap. He puts his arms around me, and I can tell he’s clearly worried. “Tell me what’s wrong.” That does it. Fear consumes his eyes and then it consumes me. I really must look bad to cause such horror in my boyfriend’s eyes. He hasn’t seen me yet today because he had errands to take care of and I’d lost track of time. I try to smooth my hair, but it’s a pointless effort. I don’t have any makeup on so I’m imagining a pale girl with racoon circles under her eyes.
“My head hurts pretty bad.” There, I admitted it.
“Have you taken anything for it?”
“Not yet. I was trying to finish the pictures for Yearbook tomorrow...”
He cuts me off. “How long have you been in there?” A very disapproving scowl begins to appear on Phillip’s face but then it morphs into worry again. He stares at my bare feet that are now round and pudgy. My ankles are barely noticeable from the swelling.
“What time is it?” I ask, rubbing my left temple.
“Come on, baby. If you have to ask, it’s been too long.” He picks me up and carries me downstairs. “I’ll make you a slushy and get some medicine.” I don’t argue. Frankly, I don’t have the energy to do it. He whisks me down the stairs with no trouble at all. You’d think he picked up a butterfly for all the effort it takes him to carry me. He’s gentle in placing me on the couch. I won’t break, but he acts like I will. “Did you eat today?”
“Some toast this morning.” Head. Throbbing. There’s a sharp pain behind my eye.
Phillip swiftly goes to the kitchen for medicine and brings it out to me. I toss the pills back. A short time later he returns with two slushies, one for each of us, a bowl of fruit and an alfalfa sprout sandwich on wheat bread, one of my favorites. I sit back with my sandwich, while he places my feet in his lap.
“Should I get the blood pressure cuff?”
I stop chewing. “Can you relax please? You’re scaring me.”
“I’m sorry. You just look so weak and in pain. I’m trying to help.” His concern is so strong I can taste it.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just...” I never like admitting how bad I really feel. “I feel horrible today and when you worry like you are, it scares me.”
“Baby, you have to take care of yourself.”
“I know.”
“Well, hopefully the medicine will help your headache. Maybe the sandwich will perk you up a little and if not, I have something that might help.” He grins and gets up to walk over to the bench by the front door and retrieves something from it.
“What’s that?” I point to a large box Phillip’s holding. His arm span wraps around it like he’s carrying a laundry basket, and I don’t know what in the world it could be. The box is soft pink. Delicate. It has a large silk black bow neatly tied securely hugging it closed.
“Do you know how hard it is to surprise you?” Phillip places the box on the coffee table, and then takes a step back. “Open it.”
“You did pretty well for Valentine’s Day,” I say referring to his museum surprise. How can he top that? I adjust myself to sit toward the edge of the couch cushion and reach for the satin ribbon. It comes loose easy enough. Phillip’s anticipation grows, flickering in his eyes as he watches me. It’s easy to gauge by the amount of wonder in his eyes. It’s a nice change from the worry that was there a moment before. I drape the satin ribbon around my neck feeling how ticklish and smooth it is against my skin. I flip open the box and push back the matching pink tissue paper that lines the inside. I have no idea what to expect.
It”s a good thing my jaw is attached to my body, otherwise it would be on the floor. My eyes are wide and again, I find no words, only astonishment. Raising the fabric, I lift out a beautiful dress.
“I was thinking we could go to the prom. What do you think?”
“It’s absolutely gorgeous.” I examine the fine stitching and beadwork, tracing my fingertips along the intricate design. Holding the gown up to my body, I check the length. It’s a subtle, powdery pink just like the box. Very delicate. The bottom flows like a rippling stream of water gliding and shaping itself over rocks. It must be made of chiffon or some other similar fabric. The bodice has a plunging back. But I can’t keep my eyes from admiring the exquisite beadwork of the front. The beads make a swirl design with a sash type belt joining the two halves to make one dress. Only one problem. Sleeveless.
“You look disappointed,” Phillip says flatly. He’s standing across from me. “I think the color compliments you.”
“It’s beautiful. Extraordinary in fact.”
“I hear a but.”
I fidget, trying to stall, biting my lip and look up into his perfect brown eyes for help. How do I say this? I don’t want to disappoint him. I keep hugging the dress. “No sleeves,” I barely whisper, feeling myself blush.
Phillip quietly crosses his arms, pursing his lips in thought. “That does present a challenge, doesn’t it?”
I feel guilty for saying it. “Thank you. It’s beautiful, Phillip. I love it. I’ll wear plenty makeup and find a shawl or something. I’ll figure it out,” I say, only wanting to preserve his feelings. The bruises on my arms are my problem, not his.
He shakes his head. His eyebrows crease together. “No, that won’t do.” He reaches for the empty box. I’m holding the dress and making it swish side to side like the bell in a church tower. I’m not even paying attention, but Phillip pulls another item from the box. Two actually. “If you want a shawl, well that’s fine I suppose, but I thought these were more your style.” Phillip holds up two satin-silky gloves that will cover the entire length of my arm. He hands me one to hold and begins to gather the other one like a woman does when she’s about to put on panty hose. “The dress is nice, but not nearly as beautiful as you. And just so we’re clear,” he pauses to kiss a bruise and a mark on my arm left by the dialysis sessions, “these marks are the result of a fighter. A warrior. Someone who lives too hard to give up. To me, they’re beautiful for that reason.” He holds the bunched-up glove so I can put my hand in to try it on. “But I know you’re insecure about them, so that’s why I got these. Not because I can’t look at them.”
He’s thought of everything.
My eyes begin to fill up like usual whenever I get overwhelmed. Happy. Sad. It doesn’t matter. I’m always a waterworks display. Especially these days when I don’t feel the best. Phillip slips the glove clear up my arm. It covers all my bruises and fits perfectly.
“Samantha Stone, will you go to prom with me?”
“Yes.” I fling my arms around his neck. He hugs me back, wrapping his strong arms completely around me.
“That’s my girl,” he whispers. His face is buried in my blonde curls along my neck. I can tell immediately that he’s pleased because I can hear the joy in his voice.
“What should I do about shoes?” I pull back to neatly fold my dress back into the box.
“I don’t care if you go in flip-flops, but let’s start by propping your feet up,” Phillip answers. I resume my place on the couch, and he puts a pillow under my hugely swollen feet to elevate them. “I figured you and my sister could handle shoes and accessories.”
He drapes my fleece blanket over my legs before cuddling in next to me and I giggle. He slurps his grape slushy that’s now getting watered down.
“What’s so funny?”
“You said accessories. It was cute.” I smile, watching his cheeks blush with their own shades of pink.
“I have a sister; I know about these things.” He laughs with me. “But seriously, you like the dress?”
“I love the dress.”
“Alright then. I’ll go with Knox and get a tux and you and my sister can do whatever you need to. Do you want to ride with them to prom or would you rather us do something separate? We can get a limo or something.” He puts down his empty cup and begins to lightly rub my feet.
“I wouldn’t mind going together, as long as I get some alone time with you.” I grin, hopelessly adoring him.
“We’ll get alone time.” He winks and smiles. “I promise.”