At 6, I Promised My Best Friend with Down Syndrome We’d Go to Prom Together
I pinkie-promised my best buddy that we would attend prom together when I was six years old.
He showed up at my home with my corsage twelve years later. When I was about to go, Mom dragged me upstairs,
locked the door, and told me that I may accompany him only after learning the secret she had been keeping for years.
On prom nite, my mother shut the door to my bedroom.
I realized something wasn’t right at that point.
I was aware that there was a problem.
Noah was waiting for me downstairs, dressed in a navy suit and the bow tie he had been discussing since November.
Thru the floor, I could hear him talking to my aunt.
Mom then turned to face me.
“You can go with Noah tonight, Chrissy. But only on one condition. I need one promise from you.”
“But only on one condition.”
I gazed at her.
“I know. That’s generally how dates work.”
“I’m serious.”
She had an odd voice.
“Okay…” I chuckled. “Let me guess. Midnight?”
“No.”
“Eleven-thirty?”
“Christina.”
My smile vanished as she called me by my entire name.
Mom’s hands were shaking.
She had an odd voice.
“You have to hear something first.”
“About what, Mom?”
Her gaze darted to the closed bedroom door.
“About Noah.”
My heart was racing.
“What about him?”
“And about me.”
She perched on my bed’s edge.
“What about him?”
Then she stated something I didn’t anticipate.
“I owe both of you the truth.”
Raisins are the reason Noah and I met.
There were six of us.
During snack time, our first-grade teacher distributed those tiny red boxes to each student.
As I discreetly tucked mine under a napkin, the boy next to me said, “That’s smart.”
“I owe both of you the truth.”
I turned to look.
He was acting in just the same manner.
I said, “You hate them?”
“They’re old grapes.”
I thot about this.
“They are.”
“Old grapes are gross,” he remarked.
That resolved the issue.
We were best pals by lunchtime.
Then dinosaurs came to the rescue.
We were best pals by lunchtime.
Noah was overly knowledgeable about dinosaurs and had strong beliefs about who would prevail in combat.
I sketched them.
Badly.
He looked at the page for a few seconds when I initially showed him my Tyrannosaurus dinosaur.
“What is… that? It looks like a potato with arms!”
“It looks like a potato with arms!”
I gave him a shove.
His laughter was so loud that our teacher had to separate us.
Noah was a person with Down syndrome.
The fact that dad cheated at dinosaur trivia by learning the answers before asking me the questions was far more significant to me at age six.
We had a straightforward friendship.
Until it was compounded by another child.
Noah was a person with Down syndrome.
Our teacher mentioned her impending marriage one afternoon.
The class erupted.
Everybody had a viewpoint.
cake with chocolate.
cake with vanilla.
flowers.
music.
Someone claimed that a trampoline was necessary for a wedding.
Noah held out his hand.
“My wedding will have chocolate cake.”
Our instructor grinned.
“Excellent choice, Noah.”
“My wedding will have chocolate cake.”
“And no slow songs, Miss Veronica.”
“Why not?”
“They’re boring.”
Across the table, a boy snorted.
“You’re not getting married, dude.”
Noah gave him a look.
“Yes, I am.”
“To who?”
“I don’t know yet.”
The boy chuckled.
“Nobody’s going to marry you.”
I can still clearly recall the moment Noah’s smile vanished.
“Nobody’s going to marry you.”
He glanced at his hands.
My chest began to heat up.
“That’s mean, Roger.”
The boy turned to face me.
“What?”
“Somebody will love Noah.”
“Then you marry him.”
The classroom erupted in laughter.
The teacher said, “That’s enough, boys and girls,” and the class became silent.
“Somebody will love Noah.”
However, I could tell Noah was upset.
He gave me a serious look later, after class.
“Chrissy… would you… love me?”
I gave it some thought.
“Maybe I will,” I said.
Noah looked up right away.
“Really?”
It dawned on me abruptly that I had persuaded myself into a grave predicament.
“Maybe.”
“Chrissy… would you… love me?”
He thot about that.
Then I recalled something that had been discussed by my older cousin.
“But first we have to go to prom,” I said.
“What’s prom?”
“A dance.”
Noah scowled.
“We have dances now.”
“No. Prom is when we’re almost grown-ups.”
He extended his pinkie and said, “Oh.” “Promise?”
“What’s prom?”
I wrapped my around his.
“Promise.”
By dinner, I had forgotten about it.
Noah didn’t.
For a friendship to endure childhood, twelve years is a long time.
Somehow, ours did.
Our classes weren’t always the same. We became friends with other people. Our interests diverged.
Noah developed a baseball obsession.
By dinner, I had forgotten about it.
I developed an obsession with art.
He attempted to instruct me in baseball statistics.
I made him go to art museums as payback.
Both campaigns were unsuccessful.
My parents divorced when we were twelve years old.
I didn’t really comprehend how that altered me at the time.
It grew quieter in our home.
My parents divorced when we were twelve years old.
Twenty minutes away, Dad moved into an apartment.
Mom began to act as tho she wasn’t crying.
I began to act as tho I was unaware.
I stopped eating a lot of lunch at school.
Noah saw.
I never had to explain myself to him.
He simply sat next to me.
He spoke occasionally.
He didn’t always.
I never had to explain myself to him.
He once talked about why our baseball club needed a new relief pitcher for fifteen minutes straight.
About four words made sense to me.
In any case, it was helpful.
Years later, Noah showed up at our house with two ice creams after I failed my first driving test.
“Why two?”
“One because you tried,” he remarked.
“One because you tried.”
I grinned.
“And the other?”
“Because you drove badly.”
I hurled a pillow in his direction.
He snatched the ugliest dinosaur drawing I had ever drawn when I informed him at sixteen that I
wanted to give up painting because a girl in my class had made fun of one of my works.
“Because you drove badly.”
I discovered it taped inside his locker the following morning.
“Noah!”
“What?”
“Why is that there?”
He looked it over.
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
“Then take it down,” I insisted.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t quit yet, Chrissy.”
“Why not?”
“Because the dinosaurs haven’t improved.”
“Still looks like a potato with arms.”
Despite myself, I laughed.
Noah was that person.
He never delivered speeches.
He simply stayed long enough for the pain to subside.
And Noah brought chocolate ice cream when my first boyfriend broke up with me three weeks prior to
junior homecoming.
As I sobbed, he sat next to me on the porch.
He simply stayed long enough for the pain to subside.
He remained silent for several minutes before speaking.
“I told you he was an idiot.”
My eyes were swollen as I gazed at him.
“No, you didn’t.”
“I thot it.”
“That doesn’t count.”
“It should.”
I almost choked on my ice cream because I laughed so much.
That story is still told by Noah.
Every time, I still threaten him.
“I told you he was an idiot.”
As a result, I never really questioned who I wanted to attend to senior prom with.
However, Noah seemed to think there was.
He discovered me near my locker one February afternoon.
“Chrissy.”
“Yes?”
“Do you remember first grade?”
I feigned to think.
“No.”
His expression fell.
“Seriously?”
“Do you remember first grade?”
“Noah, I’m kidding.”
He gave me a look.
“That’s not funny.”
“It was a little funny.”
“No.”
He then extended his pinkie.
Suddenly, I was six once more.
Raisins.
dinosaurs.
A ruthless little boy.
Even tho I had forgotten the pledge that afternoon, I managed to uphold it for 12 years.
Suddenly, I was six once more.
I wrapped my pinkie around his.
“Prom?”
Noah gave a nod.
“Prom.”
Then his whole face brightened.
“I already bought the bow tie.”
I gave a blink. “When?”
“November.”
“Noah, it was November.”
“Exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Stores run out of things,” he remarked.
“I already bought the bow tie.”
“They were not going to run out of bow ties.”
“You don’t know that.”
Noah formally asked me to prom in this manner.
I was upstairs fiddling with an earring on prom nite when the doorbell rang.
My aunt gave me a call.
“Chrissy! He’s here!”
“Tell him two minutes!”
“Chrissy! He’s here!”
Noah’s voice came from just past the entrance door.
“She said that 15 minutes ago!”
betrayer.
After completing the earring, I looked at myself in the mirror.
lovely outfit.
The hair curled.
My aunt had spent over an hour doing makeup.
I felt anxious.
Not in reference to Noah.
Regarding anything else.
I felt anxious.
Prom had always seemed like something that only happened to senior citizens.
Then all of a sudden, I was the elder one.
I reached for my handbag.
I heard Mom open the front door before I got to the stairs.
Then there was quiet.
Not the usual quiet.
The kind that stops you in your tracks.
Prom had always seemed like something that only happened to senior citizens.
I took a stride toward the landing.
Noah was standing in the doorway.
A navy outfit.
a white shirt.
That absurd bow tie was exactly straight.
He had a tiny corsage in one hand.
He was grinning.
Mom wasn’t.
She had her eyes fixed on him.
“Mrs. Jane?”
Mom blinked. “Oh. Noah. Hi.”
He had a tiny corsage in one hand.
“You okay?”
“Yes.”
She wasn’t, tho.
My mother was someone I knew.
The moment she laid eyes on him, something had shifted.
Her gaze fell to the corsage.
Next, to his bow tie.
Then his face again.
She appeared to have seen a ghost for an odd moment.
The moment she laid eyes on him, something had shifted.
“Chrissy is almost ready,” she blurted out.
“I am ready.”
I was on the stairs when Mom turned to see me.
Once more, her expression changed.
“Come upstairs with me.”
“What?”
“Just for a minute.”
“Mom, Noah’s waiting.”
“I know.”
The corsage was raised by Noah. “I have this.”
“I can see that,” I replied.
“It’s rosemary.”
“Come upstairs with me.”
Halfway down, I stopped.
“Rosemary?”
He looked very proud of himself. “The florist said it means remembering.” “And I remember promises.”
My heart fell.
Behind me, Mom made a tiny noise.
Her eyes were glistening when I turned to face her.
“Mom?”
“Upstairs, Chrissy.”
She didn’t ask this time.
“And I remember promises.”
She closed my bedroom door the moment we walked in.
After that, I locked it.
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
She turned to face me.
“You can go with Noah tonight, but only on one condition.”
I was angry before I was afraid.
“If this is about Noah having Down syndrome, I swear to God…”
“Okay, you’re scaring me, Mom.”
“No.”
“Because I’m 18, Mom.”
“I know.”
“He’s my best friend.”
“I know that too.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
She was unable to talk for a few seconds.
She finally took a seat on my bed.
“Do you remember the year your father left?”
I was taken aback by the question.
“He’s my best friend.”
“What does Dad have to do with prom?”
“Nothing.”
“Then why are we talking about him?”
“Because there’s something that happened that year.”
I crossed my arms.
“What?”
Mom turned to face the ground.
“You were 12.”
“I know.”
“You stopped eating lunch.”
I lowered my arms gradually.
“How do you know that?”
“Because there’s something that happened that year.”
“Noah told me.”
I gazed at her.
“What?”
She raised her gaze to mine.
“He found me one afternoon.”
“Where?”
“In the school parking lot.”
The room felt suddenly smaller because of something in her expression.
“He caught me crying in the car,” Mom said.
I took a seat next to her.
“Mom…”
“He found me one afternoon.”
She rubbed her palms together and said, “I thot nobody saw me.” “But Noah did.”
I heard Noah chuckle softly downstairs at something my aunt had said.
Mom also heard it.
For a brief while, her face contorted before she regained control.
I insisted, “What did he say to you?”
“I thot nobody saw me.”
She gave me a look.
“He asked me if you were broken.”
I gasped. “Why?”
“Because you weren’t eating, sweetie. You weren’t laughing. He said you sat by yourself sometimes.”
I turned to face the door.
Most of those lunches had slipped my mind.
Noah hadn’t, apparently.
“What did you tell him?”
“He asked me if you were broken.”
Mom swallowed and said, “I told him you weren’t broken.” “Then he said something I’ve remembered for six years.”
“What?”
She wrapped her fingers around mine.
A tear trickled down her cheek.
“He said, ‘Good. Because I don’t know how to fix people. I only know how to stay.'”
I was unable to talk.
“I don’t know how to fix people. I only know how to stay.”
Mom gave me a hand squeeze.
“For six years, Noah has kept a promise to me that you never knew existed.”
My heart started to race.
“What promise?”
She had pulled me upstairs to hear the truth, whatever happened next.
I wasn’t sure if I was prepared for it all of a sudden.
She had pulled me upstairs to hear the truth, whatever happened next.
Mom’s voice broke.
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
I gazed at her.
“You… what?”
“I was falling apart, Chrissy. Your father had left, you barely spoke to me, and Noah was the only person who seemed able to reach you.”
I froze.
“I asked Noah to promise he’d look after you.”
Mom dabbed at her cheek.
“He said, ‘Okay.’ Just like that.”
Noah laughed once more downstairs.
Mom turned to face the door.
“And then I did something I’m ashamed of.”
“What?”
“For six years, I worried you were sacrificing too much for him,” she said.
I became motionless.
“I did something I’m ashamed of.”
“Every time you waited for Noah, defended him, changed plans because he wasn’t invited, I wondered
whether you felt responsible for him.”
“Mom…”
Her mouth quivered as she said, “I kept measuring your friendship by what Noah might need from you.” “I never bothered measuring it by what he gives.”
I suddenly had a different perspective on six years.
“I kept measuring your friendship by what Noah might need from you.”
After my driving test, I had ice cream.
He had that dumb dinosaur in his locker.
lunches when I was unable to speak.
When my heart broke, I was on a porch.
I hadn’t been required to carry Noah.
We had just continued to be there for one another.
I muttered, “So what’s your condition?”
I hadn’t been required to carry Noah.
Mom grinned while crying.
She clutched my hand and said, “Don’t go tonight because six-year-old Chrissy promised him.”
“Promise me you’ll go because 18-year-old Christina chooses him.”
I chuckled.
“Mom, I wasn’t going because of the promise.”
“I know that now.”
“The promise is just why Noah bought a bow tie four months early,” I replied.
“Promise me you’ll go because 18-year-old Christina chooses him.”
She eventually laughed at that.
We descended the steps.
Noah glanced between us.
“You took a long time.”
Mom approached him head-on.
“Noah, may I have the first dance?”
He raised his eyebrows.
“Mrs. Jane, this is not prom.”
I started laughing.
Mom still turned on the music.
“Noah, may I have the first dance?”
Noah counted steps while Mom kept going in the wrong direction for thirty awkward seconds.
He finally let out a sigh.
“Mrs. Jane, Chrissy dances better.”
Mom said in a softer voice, “That’s why she’s your date.” “Thank you for staying.”
As if she had thanked him for breathing, Noah scowled.
“She stays too.”
“Thank you for staying.”
Mom shut her eyes.
She had been waiting for that response for years.
Noah extended his hand at prom when the first slow song started.
“Chrissy… You owe me.”
“Twelve years?”
“Yes.”
In five seconds, he trod on my shoe.
“You’re terrible at this.”
“Your dress is badly designed.”
“Chrissy… You owe me.”
People gazed at us as we laughed.
Nothing particularly noteworthy occurred.
No one cheered us on.
We were just two eighteen-year-olds dancing poorly.
Mom waited outside after that.
My feet hurt, so Noah carried my heels.
He was feeling overheated, so I brought his jacket.
He opened my door at the automobile.
We were just two eighteen-year-olds dancing poorly.
Leaning across the seat, I climbed in and opened his.
Mom looked at us in the mirror.
She had seen me with Noah for years and assumed that one of us was looking out for the other.
At last, she comprehended.
No one was trying to save anyone.
No one was carrying out a duty.
No one was trying to save anyone.
At the age of six, the two of us discovered something that grownups occasionally spend their entire
lives learning.
You stay with someone who is important to you.
If you’re lucky, they may also remain at times.
You stay with someone who is important to you.
