The Blue Dress

The Blue Dress - Part Two

Every year, they hold prom in some pompous, over-the-top venue and it was no different for my year group. Wide stone steps led up to the grand entrance, where a piper wearing a black blazer and green-hued kilt played a welcoming ballad. At least, I think that's what it was meant to be. In reality, I only know of the existence of 4 different songs on the bagpipes and they all just blend into each other as a mass of confused noise and patriotic feelings.

Honestly, all of this fuss over teenagers leaving high school. As if high school has ever deserved a different grand finale than drawing a massive middle finger in chalk on the concrete car park! But no, instead they have us all come to a hotel outside of town where some students can drink alcohol, others can find love or just someone to fool around with and the rest of us can enjoy an average meal we spent way too much money on in clothes we spent more than way too much money on. And I'll tell you which of these groups I belonged to on my prom night which I will remind you, I essentially attended in drag. Not out of choice either!

There was a cool summer breeze which normally wouldn't bother me but for the fact that I felt it rush through my whole body. A mix of my skyscraper-size nerves and not being used to wearing a dress, my smooth and bare skin under, below and above my dress was at the climate's mercy. My arms, legs and neck were totally exposed and the blue dress itself didn't offer much warmth in its material. They don't really make fur-lined prom dresses, something which would really have helped my stickman, or in this case, stickwoman figure.

The only source of warmth outside was my friend's hand which squeezed mine so tight I couldn't leave his side even if I wanted to. And oh, how I wanted to leave prom. My classmates were going to see me dressed as a girl on my best friend's arm like a total sissy and the remains of a pretty dismal and dull social life would crumble into nothing. Still, delaying the inevitable solves nothing so we had to go in. The only thing separating me from total humiliation was those stone steps. I took a few deep breaths as my best friend tried to calm me down before we went past the point of no-return. Every click of my silver heels off the pristine stone seemed to build to the crescendo which awaited at the summit, where the piper was practically deafening us. My date made some point about how proud he was of me for not falling in my heels even though I did almost stumble and fall on the second one. I just scowled and 'encouraged' him to stop talking. This was hell on Earth, and I was about to come face-to-face with the dementors who lurked beneath the soil.

The first thing to hit me as we crossed the threshold into the hotel reception was the sudden improvement in the temperature. The heating was cranked up and the mass of people in the building added a further layer of insulation. I could now feel the sweat pool between my hand and the hand of my best friend. He seemed nervous but he did not have the audacity to complain to me about it. After all, he wasn't wearing a chiffon skirt. Or any other type of skirt at all! I wished he was suffering with me in this toxic feminine curse, but instead he just had to be the Aladdin to my Jasmine. And it made me feel ridiculously nauseous, that or the perfume daubed all over me in the arduous dolling-up process from earlier.

I told him that I needed to put on a fake voice but he dismissed that idea since everyone in the room already knew me. There was no way to conceal that under the dress, the lingerie and the cement-mixer full of makeup unloaded on my face, I was the same boy they all knew and most of them disliked. I had no choice but to face the music. Unless I tried something bolder.

I told my friend that I planned to play this off like I chose to do it, as if I was coming out or something. He also didn't like that idea because that would have changed the complexion of the scenario for him. If I took the punishment as a bet, he would simply be the willing friend. If I made it out to be my choice, that made the decision to be my date his choice. And he obviously wasn't comfortable with that. I did raise the point that he wouldn't have been there with me in that moment if he wasn't comfortable dating me like this. He had no response to that, so I took the reigns on the situation. He wasn't thrilled, but I was beyond caring. A mean move on my part, but still.

Finally, after my pep talk, we were ready to go into the function suite - the epicentre of our prom night. He opened the left door of the double set in front of our faces and used the classic 'ladies first' line. A weak joke, but I did crack a smile for the first time since the forced ones for the photos that my mum organised. He still didn't let go of my hand, spinning back around the door like a seductive choreographer to join me at my side once more. Talk about being in my bubble!

At last, letting my eyes leave his face, I took my first look at the party itself. A sea of suits on one side of the room, a mismatch of different gowns on the other. Why were we split up like that? We all knew our own dates, most of us travelled together, it's not like the school didn't know what couples typically do. The whole room had a pinkish tint to it from the house lights of the DJ set, which was heavily noticeable when shining off of the photo booth - a tiny sponge room to flaunt your vanity in selfie after selfie or a quieter place to make out, depending on your tastes. I realised I would have to leave my friend's side and this was confirmed to us by the teacher who was in charge of this fiasco.

'Boys to the left' he said to my friend. The old woman then stared point-blank into my face and smirked. 'I suppose you're a girl. To the right with you.'
The nerve of her! Even the nearly-retired maths teacher I've never been taught by couldn't help but laughing at my predicament. But instead of laughing about it, I was angry. Almost as if I was offended not by not being seen as a boy, but by not being accepted as a girl.

Still this was surely going to be a trend I had to adjust to over the night. My friend released my hand from his and walked over to the left of the hall. I wanted to wipe the sweat off my hand but for some reason, I couldn't bring myself to rub it on my dress, or even my skin. It was like I was afraid of ruining my outfit but that couldn't have been the case. I honestly hated every part of how I looked.

Instead, I gingerly made my way over to the right-hand side of the hall where the girls were all waiting, some of whom had already worked out exactly who the latest girl to join them really was. This was always going to be a nightmare.