Gene took me on many dates and I grew incredibly close to him in such a short time. He somehow knew every one of my likes and dislikes, what areas of town I tended to avoid, and the people I didn't want to associate with. I was, at times, put off by the way he seemed to think he knew me better than I knew myself, but at the same time, I was flattered that he took the time to get to know my ins and outs. One afternoon after school, I wanted to spend time alone at one of my favorite cafes in town. I made a point of telling my friends and Gene that I wanted to be alone for a bit and they respected my wish. However, I walked into the cafe, an intoxicating coffee scent wafting through the air, and Gene standing by a table for two holding a bouquet of white daisies. I stomped toward him, peeved that he did not respect my desire to be alone.
"Why are you here?" I placed my hands on my hips.
"I wanted to give these to you," he held the bouquet to my chest. "And I wanted to spend a romantic afternoon with you. I know how much you like romantic gestures." He smiled, that cheeky lip curl that I found so endearing, and all my anger fizzled and dissolved to the recesses of my mind.
I sighed and grabbed the flowers. I dipped my nose into the petals and internalized the fresh and herbaceous fragrance, willing myself calmer.
"Thank you, Gene. This is very kind of you."
He smiled, eyes crinkling pleasantly as if I had fallen into the palm of his hand, and nowadays, I believe I had. I should have been more concerned about his blatant disregard for my wishes and his unwillingness to leave me alone, but at the time, I had no romantic experience and Gene was the ideal boyfriend by most standards. So I ignored all negative probing from the cautious voices in my head and let myself experience the idealistic high school romance that many kids my age could only dream of.
"Lawrence asked me to go to prom with him."
Kim's half-eaten spritz cookie fell from her mouth, landing on the mahogany coffee table in Mrs. Bun's living room with a plop. Kim, Matt, Rita, and I sat surrounding the rectangular table after school sometime toward the end of April. Gene and I had been dating for a couple of weeks now. It was the time of the season when the senior boys began asking the girls they were interested in to join them for the end-of-May senior prom. Kim had gotten her fair share of invites; Robert Massey being one of the few, oddly enough. Somehow, after his altercation at the football game with Kim, he gained a sort of admiration for her and developed a crush. "He is not even on my radar," Kim said after rejecting his confession for the sixth time. This time, it seemed that Lawrence had asked Rita to accompany him.
"Why?" I asked.
Rita shrugged. "He still thinks there's something there. After Kim and I talked, I set him straight, but he just won't leave me be."
Kim shook her head. "I cannot believe that guy. How desperate must he be to invite a girl who is so clearly not into him? So, you turned him down, right?"
"Of course. I'm waiting for someone I actually like to ask me." Rita's expression dimmed and I knew why—Rita liked Gene.
It was hard for me to tell her that Gene had asked me out because I knew how much she liked him. The reason she auditioned for the band was for him, and I knew they had a history. When I asked Gene if he had sex with her, he admitted that he did, but assured me there was nothing deeper continuing between them or that there ever was. I felt bad for Rita and I let her down gently a few days after he asked me to be his girlfriend. She took it surprisingly well. She cried for a bit, telling me that it was unfair and that she liked him for much longer than I had. I let her take her sadness out on me; I felt that I deserved it for getting in the way of her love. But after a few minutes, she stopped and said that she would find someone far better than Gene. "He doesn't deserve me anyway," she said with a small smile: You've lost that lovin' feeling, Now it's gone, gone, gone. It was a positive interaction that ended in no malice and even strengthened our friendship.
"So, Shirl," Matt started. "Did Gene ask you to prom yet?"
I shook my head. Gene hadn't asked me yet, but I did not doubt that he would soon. Gene hadn't been coming to band practice recently and Wesley told me that he'd seen him hanging around Harlem recently (Wes lived in a luxurious high-rise that overlooked the district). I knew he was up to something and I had hoped it was building up to some grand prom invite. Maybe he was working more hours so he could buy me something extravagant. Many imaginative possibilities ran through my mind and I was looking forward to whatever he was planning.
"Do you have any plans to invite someone, Matt?" Rita asked.
"No, but I have a feeling someone might ask me."
The group erupted in a series of shocked gasps.
"Who?" We asked in unison.
Matt got a bit red in the face. "Francis."
I introduced Matt and Kim to the band in late March and they seemed to get along very well. Kim and Francis bickered often, but they got along, and Matt and Wesley were a great combination of spunk and timid. However, to my knowledge, Francis and Matt didn't have a lot in common and didn't interact much. At least, that's what they had me believing.
"After Shirl introduced us, we started noticing each other more in hallways and classes. From there we started meeting up after school. We did homework, had meals, picnics, and went to the movies. We did a lot of stuff that could be seen as dates. He's actually an amazing guy: technologically savvy, musically talented, and knowledgeable in a lot of scientific subjects. We found ourselves falling in love with each other."
We were completely shocked. The Francis we knew going on picnic dates? The tough and silent bear? It was a hilarious picture to imagine.
"So you two are dating?" I asked.
He shook his head. "No, but I plan to ask him soon. I think he'll ask me to prom though."
"Yeah, after all that, it would be weird if he asked someone else," Rita chimed in, and we all nodded in agreement.
We talked about our outfits for prom for a while longer. Rita wanted a sheer lace red a-line dress and I thought it fit her perfectly; elegant and bold. Matt had already bought his, a sleek navy blue tuxedo with a matching tie. Kim had hers already as well; it was a hand-me-down from her older sister (a stoner in love with New York nightlife and dark, suspicious alleys). It was a short, flowy black dress with a large black bow. I hadn't bought my dress yet because I wanted something to match Gene's tux. I got a few weird looks from Matt and Kim when I told them I was waiting to see what he wore, but I ignored them. An hour later, Mrs. Bun came home from work (she worked at a salon as a hairstylist during the day and at a nightclub as a server at night). We bid her goodnight and goodbye before we went our separate ways.
I walked back home in silence, holding hands with Kim. We didn't do it often, but that night as the moon was full and bright and the stars shone dimly in the night sky, we felt nostalgic and like sisters. Like sisters who had spent our entire lives growing up side by side, playing with dolls and baking burnt cookies. Like sisters who braided each other's hair and fought over dresses. Like sisters who had only each other in the vast night and cruel world. We passed sewage smoke clouds, homeless hippies, pigeons, and sewer rats. It was a disgusting place—smelly and filthy—but there was something about the Bronx, and New York itself, that always had me in a curious state of melancholy. It was a sad city of homeless people, gang fights, druggies, protests, and murder. I felt pity for the people trapped within the towering skyscrapers and railroads for it was very difficult to leave once you entered. I have since become one such person, but back then, at Theodore Roosevelt High School, in my blissful ignorance and naïveté, I believed that those moments with Kim and Matt and Rita would become distant memories that I could look fondly on when far off in the future I lived in a small home in the suburbs of Michigan with Gene.
On May 5, 1968, Gene finally asked me to prom. It was a long, tiring day of all work and no play. I had just finished my final class of the day and I was on my way through the dimly lit hallways to meet up with Kim and Matt at the front entrance. The hallway was empty with only an occasional student every so often. I was thinking about a lot of things back then: in April, my father had a bad accident. He had taken too much morphine to quell the pain in his shoulder and he fainted in the bathtub. He was in the hospital for the next week and my thoughts were occupied with his health. And the war was a constant mole in the recesses of my mind, coming to the surface for the sun every so often to remind me of the state of the world. I was lost in a lot of ways and Gene was an escape from those things that kept me awake in the dark of night. A shout from behind me and down the hall made me jump out of my head and into reality. I whipped around and saw Gene in a black suit and roller skates cruising down the hall at high speed, headed my way. I laughed aloud as he spun circles around me, effectively making my hair a bird's nest with the wind. He stopped before me, a bouquet of white daisies in one hand and a small box in the other. With a smile, he handed me the bouquet.
"What's all this?" I asked through a laugh.
"Shirl, my lovely girlfriend," he started. "I talked to your father the other day ."
"My father?"
"He permitted me to ask this of you." He got down on one knee, struggling a little because of the rollerblades, and held up the small box. "Shirley, you're the only one for me. Will you go to prom with me?"
With the opposite hand, he pried open the top half of the box to reveal a small ring. It was smokey topaz, my favorite gemstone. If we were in any other scenario, any passersby would think he was proposing. I covered my mouth with my hands and nodded my head vigorously.
"Yes, of course!"
He shot up from his position and enveloped me in a warm, enthusiastic embrace. He twirled me around before placing me back down, revealing an ear-to-ear grin. He grabbed my hand and slid the ring onto my ring finger. It was the perfect fit. Beyond being my favorite gem, it was a 10-karat yellow gold cocktail ring; it was a gorgeous ring (later he told me that he chose it because it reminded him of the sun which, in turn, reminded him of me). As I suspected, he had taken up more hours at the workshop to buy the ring with his own, hard-earned money rather than his father's cash. "Makes me feel like a self-earned man," he said. I wouldn't have minded either way, but the sentiment was enough. In the days leading up to prom night, I often imagined Gene's figure agonizing over the rings in the jewelry store, contemplating what ring suited me best and reminded him of me the most. I still own that ring, shoved deep and hidden in my wardrobe with clothes that no longer fit me and a pair of discolored, white roller skates.