The night of the spring formal is supposed to be an unforgettable night of romance, of magic. For me, it was a night I’ll never forget – the night that was almost perfect.
As I drove to Clark’s house that Saturday evening, the sky was dark and stormy, but I hardly noticed. My head was in the clouds as I reflected on how well everything had worked out. My hair and my dress looked great, but most of all, I was finally confident in Clark’s promise that he really wanted to go to the dance with me, not just out of obligation but because he truly liked me. Tonight was all about us.
Despite my happiness, my heart was pounding nervously as I pulled into Clark’s driveway. I stopped the car and put it into park, and then looked up to see Clark walking out of his front door. My jaw nearly dropped. He looked almost like a stranger in his tux, so neat and clean and formal, but his eager boyish grin gave him away.
I nearly jumped out of the car and ran to greet him. We awkwardly exchanged flowers, and then it was into the car and off to the dance. Our conversation on the way there was slow at first, but eventually we both got over our nervousness and by the time we pulled into the Smallville High parking lot, we were chatting away like usual.
The wind had really picked up during our ride there. Just going from the car to the building felt like walking through a wind tunnel, and I was thankful for the extra bobby pins my mom had stuck in my curls. We ran into Lana and Whitney right as we stepped inside but luckily they were just leaving to take Whitney to the bus station, and they didn’t stick around long.
The sight that met us as we stepped into the gym dazzled me. Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I’m no fairy princess, and I’m sure Prince Charming never made his date drive to the dance, but still it felt like we’d walked into the middle of our very own fairy tale. The decorations – pastel hues and sparkling glitter everywhere – set the mood for a night of quiet romance. In that atmosphere, no one could suspect what was coming.
About twenty minutes into the dance, I was standing with some friends when I heard the band, Remy Zero, play the opening chords of my favorite song, “Perfect Memory”.
“Oh my gosh, I love this one!” I gasped to my friend. Then I saw Clark approaching, grinning, and I got a strong suspicion that he had something to do with the choice of music. “May I have this dance?” he asked, always the gentleman. “Of course,” I grinned.
We walked onto the floor, into the sea of slowly spinning couples. He wrapped his arms around my waist and I leaned into his embrace. Smiling up at him, I mused, “Clark Kent, man of mystery. Just when I think I have you figured out, you surprise me.”
He knit his eyebrows, smiling curiously. “How’s that?”
“The song… the tux…” I groped for a way to explain myself, a rare feeling for me, “Tonight,” I concluded simply.
He gave me his patented Clark Kent grin. “And I’m still here.”
“Yeah, you are.”
We shared a look of understanding then, a glance conveying a thousand unspoken feelings, and then he pulled me close to him. He rested his cheek against my hair, and I buried my face into his chest. I could smell his cologne and hear his breathing and feel his steady heartbeat. And for the first time, I could be close to him without the pretense of “damsel-in-distress needing a hug”. I knew that for this small window in time, as we danced together, his full attention was focused solely on me, not Pete or Lex or even Lana – just me. It was the culmination of every fantasy I’d had since I met him back in middle school. Only one more thing was needed to make it perfect.
Suddenly Clark stopped spinning. I looked up at him, confused, and then I saw his face. He had a look in his eyes, a solid determination and purpose, but buried beneath was a layer of anxiety. A million conflicting thoughts flashed through his beautiful blue eyes, communicated to me in an instant. And I knew my fantasy was about to become reality.
As his face drew slowly closer to mine, I couldn’t hold back the small grin of excitement that spread across my lips. I resisted the urge to rush the kiss, wanting to savor these moments of pure blissful anticipation.
Maybe I shouldn’t have. Because at the last critical instant, when our waiting lips were a millimeter from touching, there was a loud interruption and it was all over before it even started. Clark jumped back, surprised, and looked up at the stage, the source of the commotion. I turned also, shock and rage showing clearly on my face. I hardly listened as the vice-principal informed us of the tornado forming south of town. Over and over in my mind tumbled the agony, so close, but there was nothing I could really do about it.
And a few moments later, when Clark ran off as usual to search for Lana, I realized that there was a very good possibility that my special chance might never come again. I smiled bitterly as I realized the cruel irony.
The song that was playing that night was called “Perfect Memory”, but my memory of the dance would always be of a dream that never came true, a kiss so close to happening, and so far from perfect.
So much for fairy tales.
