Prom Night in Purgatory(30)

Irene shot her a look that indicated she thought Maggie rude for pointing out her lie. Her tears stopped falling, though, and she smacked Maggie lightly on the arm.

“Smarty pants!” Irene huffed, and Maggie snickered, making Irene smile a little too.

“I remember this dress now. I really am getting old. I did wear this. I had purchased the red dress, but at the last moment I got cold feet. Lizzie, my little sister, informed me that no one would be wearing red and I would feel silly. She was right. It was the only time I ever took fashion advice from a ten-year-old. The funny thing was another girl at the prom was wearing a red dress just like it. I’d forgotten all about her. She stood out like a sore thumb, but she looked wonderful. Johnny danced with her...” Irene’s eyes filled with tears once more, and she stopped talking and suddenly stood. “That dress is here somewhere.”

Irene started pulling dress bags from a long, free-standing rack, unzipping them like she was on a quest. Maggie scurried after her, tidying up the abandoned and discarded articles of clothing Irene left in her wake.

“Here! I knew it was here somewhere,” Irene cackled gleefully, and wrenched an armful of red from a dress bag smashed between two others. Irene’s curled and pinned coif was now a rat’s nest, and her eye makeup was smeared, but she seemed extraordinarily pleased with herself, so Maggie didn’t comment.

“Look at it, Maggie! It’s gorgeous. And here are the shoes and the clutch! I never even got to wear this!” Irene wailed mournfully. Struggling out from the disarray she’d created, she headed down the stairs, the red dress hanging over one arm, the shoes and the little silver purse clutched in the other. Maggie looked around in despair. Shaking her head, she left the chaos for another day and pulled the long strings on the weary bulbs, covering Irene’s mess with darkness. Gingerly she made her way down the stairs and went in search of her aunt. She couldn’t very well go back to bed when Irene was having a major melt-down.

She found Irene in her bedroom, sitting at the ornate vanity in the corner, fixing her smudged makeup and smoothing her ruffled hair. Maggie hadn’t spent any time in Irene’s room, and she looked around at the girlish abode with troubled eyes. The big mahogany bed had a wilted canopy above it with long curtains that could be closed at night. The spread was a faded rose color with matching pillows and a yellowed lace bedskirt hanging below it. The furniture was well made and delicate. A small lady’s writing desk with a slim cushioned chair adorned one wall. Pictures framed in roses covered the dresser and vanity. Even the wall paper was a faded pattern in pale pink. Maggie couldn’t see anything of Roger’s in the room and wondered if they had slept separately.

Maggie sank down on the bed, and a hint of lavender and talcum powder rose from the rumpled sheets.

“Has this always been your room, Aunt Irene?” Maggie questioned softly.

“Hmmm? Oh, no. Not always. When Roger and I moved back into the house after Daddy died, we shared the master bedroom. When Roger died, I moved back in here. Gus and Shad and a few others helped me move all my things from the attic. It looks almost like it did when I was a girl. I love it. It makes me feel young again.”

Maggie watched her aunt for a minute more. Irene repinned some loose hairs and powdered her nose. Then she stood and reached for the red dress that was laying in a heap on the thick beige carpet.

“Auntie? Why are you doing this?”

Irene froze, halfway through trying to unzip herself from the peach formal to don the red. Her hands fell back to her sides, and she looked at Maggie with sorrow-filled eyes.

“Is it because you saw Johnny today?” Maggie continued gently. “He told me he came here because it was one of the only places that still looked the same.”

Irene crumpled weakly onto the vanity bench, her shoulders bowed in dejection. After a moment she nodded her head in surrender.

“When I saw him, I forgot for a moment that I no longer looked the way he does. He hasn’t aged a day. I was frightened because none of it makes any sense. It wasn’t until he had gone, and I’d stopped shaking, that I came into the house and caught sight of myself in the entrance hall mirror. For a moment I didn’t recognize myself, Maggie. My reflection was that of an old woman, and I realized, maybe for the first time, that my life is....over. I won’t fall in love again. A man won’t look at me with passion in his eyes. I won’t ever be kissed the way a woman wants to be kissed, ever again. I am an old woman. But I don’t feel old inside. Inside, I am still beautiful and young. I’m still the girl who wanted to wear this dress but lost courage at the last second.”

Maggie slid off the bed and knelt at Irene’s feet. Sadness made her heart heavy and her head drooped into Irene’s lap. Why was it that human beings constantly grieved for what they couldn’t have? She was no exception. She lifted her head and tried to smile.

“Let me help you put on the red dress. You should get to wear it at least once.”

Irene smoothed Maggie’s hair and gazed down into her face, a face that reminded her so much of herself many years ago. She shook her head slowly.

“No...I don’t think I want to see myself in it after all. I’d much rather see how you look in it, Maggie. It will do my heart good to remind myself that once upon a time I was as young and beautiful as you are now. Come on. Let’s have a look.”

Maggie reluctantly stood and, dropping her pajamas, stepped out of them and pulled the red dress over her head and down her body. She smoothed the thin straps onto her shoulders, and Irene zipped the back in one swift pull. Maggie spun and, seeing her reflection in the vanity mirror, smiled with pleasure. She had always been a little uncomfortable in red, as if it drew the kind of attention she’d rather not have. But she should wear it more often. Her skin glowed against the vivid hue, and her eyes were lit up like Christmas lights. Her hair was rumpled from sleeping so she reached for a brush on Irene’s vanity and brushed her hair to the side. She had gone to bed with it damp, and it had dried in heavy waves, giving her an old pin-up girl look.