Blue Cotton Work Shirts Stitched Together for a Spring Dance
In the distance, the tall windows of the gymnasium were fully lit, casting a bright, white glow across the asphalt parking lot.
I could see the silhouettes of cars turning into the main entrance, their headlights sweeping across the brick facade.
I reached down and smoothed the green fabric panel over my chest, my fingers resting on the heavy seam.
Clara pulled the car to a stop near the front walkway, the engine idling with a low, steady thrum.
“I will be waiting right here when it is over,” she said.
I looked at her, then back at the bright windows of the school.
“I know,” I said.
I closed the car door, my eyes fixed on the distant glow of the high school gymnasium windows.
The concrete walkway was cold under my thin-soled shoes as I walked toward the double glass doors of the entrance. I reached the heavy doors and pulled one open, the brass handle freezing against my bare palm.
