My Sister's Shirt

It was my first dance and I couldn't decide what to wear.
Gray pants, red sweater? Black pants, gray sweater? Sneakers?
It was time to go and my favorite shirt was out of
commission-all wrinkled and stinky like my bed-ridden
grandma. In panic mode I raided my sister's room. The
checkered shirt looked good but I'd have to keep the label
concealed. Sweater on, collar up, tail out. Let's go.

I wanted to see Anna. That's why I was going. To see her. At
night. And to maybe dance with her and whisper in her ear and
kiss her on the face. Or the lips. I don't know, a romantic
kiss. I sat out the first few songs, a little subconscious
about the shirt. They could tell. They couldn't tell. Anyway
it was nice just to watch her from across the room. She kept
touching her friend on the arm and laughing and she was
drinking a coke. The disco ball sprinkled her hair with
fragments of light. Like snowflakes on a princess. Then Tony
punched me in the arm. I guess he knew what I was thinking.
Or maybe I even said it out loud.

I ate chips, I drank fanta, I invited Anna to dance with me.
She smiled and she was beautiful and her dress was blue and
she said something and I laughed. It was a slow dance and my
hand rested on her back. On the skin. She had a groove down
the center of her back. It was a groove, that's the only way
I can describe it. My hand melted and she was warm and I was
in love. It was a crush, it was a crush. But it was more than
a crush.

And then it was over and she smiled and she twirled and
laughed and I wiped the sweat off my hands and said something
about her hair and she said she liked my shirt.