Asleep, To Dream in Seattle

No school assignment over the entire senior year had been given as much attention by any of my peers, as the logistics we had lined up for the night of our Senior Prom. Dressing for the event resembled the preparation of a toreador for a ring encounter with the son of Ferdinand. The entire rented outfit, shoes to studs via cummerbund, was a montage of awkward paraphernalia, framing the importance of the occasion. Once decked out, I was no longer the erstwhile flunk out who had nearly been impaled by a flying participle. Gary Cooper and Jimmy Stewart came to mind, and left. A Bozo became a Beauregard.

Finally, suited up with boutonniere on lapel and corsage for the lady in hand, I rang the doorbell to summon my princess. What came to the door was a stunning vision that put me in a spell for the next twelve hours. The whole thing was such a contrast to the dreariness of life before Janet that I couldn’t help feeling like royalty each time I looked at her. We were so grown up for the night, and made a mighty handsome couple too, I must say in all modesty. The first stop was the Olympic Hotel where we joined a dozen or so of our friends for a ceremonial celebration. We had a banquette room to ourselves and started off the occasion with a prayer and toast to our futures, while lifting flutes of something resembling champagne. It was tres eligante. The food could have been Gro Pup for all I knew, though I’m sure it was top notch. As mesmerized as I was, a parlor hypnotist could have convinced me I was a chicken enough to yield a basket of Grade A large golf balls.

The spell continued on through the night. The senior dance was far beyond the dress-up affairs we had previously enjoyed. Lavish decoration and Frankie Roth’s danceable music helped keep the balloon full of euphoric surrealism as we floated through our romantic memory. Nothing intruded to imply the night was made for anything other than the pleasure of two love-sick kids gliding slowly toward their last dance. Following the final notes of "Good Night Sweetheart", our group reassembled in warm scruffy clothes for our most memorable TS happening, an all night cruise.

Once we were under way, couples dispersed around the deck of the motorized sailing schooner. The pairs compacted separately, in part to snuggle against the cooling night air. As we heeled northward, shifting Sound breezes wafted across the railing and tapped the rigging against masts aloft. Our drift between Shilshole Bay and Indianola was a lulling metaphor for the life we had been enjoying throughout high school. The waiting dock would lead us away from our languid ebbtide interlude. Though we knew nothing could be done to prevent the change in tides, we would never forget the night we held them at bay for a cruise into memory.