The prom
By William Wetherall
A butterfly fluttered its wings and two paths crossed
Began 22 September 2018, completed 25 September 2018.
Last revised 25 September 2018 (2,390 words)
The Prom
By William Wetherall
During the last Ice Age, on one of the many islands that dotted the seas between the glaciers, an island now under the waves of the Pacific Ocean, a black butterfly on a purple-speckled white orchid fluttered its red-marbled wings, and a waft of warm moist air began its long journey through space and time. Thousands of years later, in 1960, a Nevada City girl walked into a shoe store on Mill Street in Grass Valley, California, and forever changed the life of the pimply-faced clerk who greeted her.
The afternoon trade was slow and Bill was alone in the store. Frank, the manager, was having a drink next door at Bunce's Place with Don, who ran the men's clothing and boot store across the street with his father Vic. The owner of the shoe store, Frank's father-in-law Howard, had gone home for lunch and a long nap. He wouldn't be back until late afternoon, when he'd work in the office until closing time, then clear the register, tally the receipts, and do the books.
Bill saw the girl looking in the window. He didn't know her but he knew her name. She had been a sophomore at the high school last year when he was a senior. She'd be a junior now.
He fiddled with some shoes on the sales rack beside the flouroscope in the middle of the store, pretending not to notice her. He heard the door open and felt a waft of cool dry air, and looking around, he saw her smiling at him. He felt his pulse quicken. He wanted to say something cool like "What may we do for you today?" but chickened out.
"Hi. M-may I help you?" he said after taking a deep breath and smiling.
He hadn't just seen her at the high school but now and then had gazed at her from a distance. It would be much too forward to call her name as though he knew her.
"I'd like to try on those red shoes in the window," she said.
He looked at her feet. They were every bit as pretty as her face and her figure.
"They're fives," she said.
"Tens would definitely float on you, but let's measure them to be sure."
He fiddled with her foot in the measuring stick but her toes kept moving.
"Could you stop wiggling your toes for a second, Donna?" he said.
It just came out like that and she looked at him funny.
"Donna's not wiggling them," she said.
He felt his face flush. He was sure her name was Donna.
"Who's wiggling them, then?" he said.
"Diane."
He met her eyes.
"Sorry, I thought your name was Donna."
"My name is Donna. Her name's Diane."
He detected a playful gleem in her eyes. Then she frowned and said, "How'd you know my name?"
It was his turn to smile.
"Willy told me," he said.
She paused a moment before saying "Who's Willy?"
"A friend of Diane's," he said.
She laughed. Or rather she giggled.
"So what size am I?"
"Five, five-and-a-half."
"Do you have them?"
"Let me check."
The lot of red heels had come in just a couple of weeks before and were on the shelves right behind the try-on area, as were most items in the window. He pulled two boxes off the shelf, one with shoes, the other empty.
"These are five-and-a-halfs," he said, opening the box with shoes. "The fives are in the window. But let's try these on first."
They were just a bit too big.
"See? I was right."
"I'll get the fives out of the window."
He walked to the back the window with the women's shoes. The red heels were at the far end. He couldn't just pluck them out of the back. He'd have to crawl through the window to fetch them and be careful not to knock over other the other displays.
"It'll take a couple of minutes," he said to her over his shoulder. "While I'm in the window, though, how about the doggie?"
"The doggie?" she said, her voice rising an octave.
"The doggie in the window," he said, struggling to keep his voice level.
"There's a doggie in the window?"
He heard the joy of expectation and imagined her eyes big and bright. Then he hesitated, for he wanted to hear her laugh, not raise her hopes and dissapoint her. But he'd already gone too far.
"How much is that doggie in the window," he sang.
She remained silent, and he was being too careful in the window to look at her, but when he got out, with the fives in hand, and approached her in the try-on area, she was smiling at him.
"Diane told me you pulling my leg," she said.
"That was Willy pulling you leg, not me," I said, and we both laughed.
The fives were perfect.
"They look nice."
"You say that to everyone."
"But they do look nice. Not everyone can wear red."
"You think so?"
"I would guess you're not wearing these to church or to school."
"Not to church, but to school."
"Really?"
"Really. I'm wearing them to the prom, and the prom's at school."
"The Junior Prom?"
"Do I look like a senior?"
"Juniors can go to the Senior Ball if their invited."
"Would you invite me?"
"I graduated last year, so I can't."
"I didn't ask you if you could. I asked you if you would."
"If I could I sure might."
"Would you or wouldn't you?!"
"Sure. Why not?"
"'Why not?'" she said, imitating his inflection.
"Sure," he repeated. "Yes. Of course."
She studied the red pumps, still on her feet, while shaking her head. He had the sinking feeling he had just lost the sale. Then she slipped them off, stepped into her sneakers, and said "Wrap them up."
At the register his pulse again quicked. He wanted to ask her "What did the chewing gum said to the shoe?" and hear her laugh when he said "I'm stuck on you." But he went into his usual sales pitch.
"Anything else today?"
"No."
"Shoe polish?"
"The guy I'm going with isn't going to step on my toes."
"Anyone I know?"
"Yes."
"Who?"
"You'll find out soon enough."
"How about but monogrammed cufflinks for him?"
"Then you'd know who I'm taking."
"Shoe laces?"
"They're pumps, if you noticed."
"Peds?"
"With heels?"
"Foot powder? Corn cushions? Bunion guards? Toe spreaders?"
She stared at him. He smiled.
"How about a free shoe horn."
"How about just wrapping them up, Billy Boy."
No one had called him that since he was in diapers. He knew that only because his mother had told him. But at least the girl knew his name. So maybe he still had a chance.
He rang the sale, made the change, and gave her a sack with the shoes in the box.
"Thank you, Donna. If you get home and change your mind, or if they seem to pinch anywhere, bring them back we'll take care of it."
She started toward the door, and he watched her, hoping she would turn and smile, but she let the door close behind her without looking back. He watched her walk down the street, toward Main, then stepped over to the try-on area to fetch the five-and-a-halfs to put in the window. He had just finished restoring the red-shoe display, and had started back toward the small door that gave access to the window, when he heard a tap on the glass and saw her smiling at him from the side of the window nearest the entrance to the store. His heart sunk. She'd come to return the shoes.
She came in the store and watched him make his way through the displays to the small door. He replayed the sale backwards, taking the box of shoes out of the sack, opening the register, counting out the refund in her small hand. He couldn't help but look at her, and when he did, he knocked over a display that knocked over another display and then another, like dominoes. Finally he was standing in front of her, returning her smile despite himself.
RESUME"YouYou're bringing them backHe reached for the shoes.
, playing the sale backwards, taking the sacked shoes, opening the register, returning her money, waited for him to crawl out of the window. leave the window.to leave the window, when he heard a tap on with the red shoes "patches?"What you take me for, a "
"May I borrow a slip of paper?"
"Are you planning to return it?" I asked her as I tore a page off the tablet we used to figure prices and taxes.
"Yes. May I have two more?"
"You going to write a novel?" I said, tearing off two more pages.
"No. Got a pen?"
I silently passed her the pen I carried in my shirt pocket and she began to write on the sheets.began writing on the sheet on the The ledge on the customer side of the a counter that had a She wrote something on the paper and passed it to me.
"Donna Springett. 265-4362. Gold Flat Road."
"Thank you, Donna."
"Don't lose Thank D
, and she wrote something on it.