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A Quarterly Journal
Jeffrey Woodward, Founder & Owner
Ray Rasmussen, General Editor

Volume 11, Number 2, June 2017
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Terri L. French
Huntsville, Alabama, U.S.A.


May 6, 1977

I didn’t go to my prom. I didn’t shop for a sequined dress with slits and plunges that would afterwards hang in the back of my closet and years later be relegated to a sales rack at the local Salvation Army. I didn’t wear a wrist corsage of yellow roses and baby’s breath. I didn’t ride in the back of a limo with three other couples for the four and a half miles to the Knights of Columbus hall. I didn’t slow dance to all 7 minutes and 55 seconds of Stairway to Heaven. I didn’t stand beneath a faux arbor to have my photo taken with my date (the gorgeous football player who sat in front of me in Advanced Chemistry). Nor did I make out with him in the dark corner of someone’s basement at the after party. I didn’t stay out all night, drink too many Sloe Gin Fizzes, puke all over the aforementioned sequined gown, wake up with the hangover from hell and get grounded for the next month. I didn’t go to my prom.

leaving the daisy’s petals intact wallflower

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