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I invited my grandmother, the high school janitor, to the prom — when they made fun of us, I grabbed the microphone and broke the silence
Prom is said to be the most magical night of high school: sparkling dresses, last-minute rented tuxedos, and the illusion that your entire future hinges on one dance floor. For me, that night was anything but a fairytale. It would, however, become unforgettable, but not for the reasons anyone expected.
I’m eighteen years old, and my whole life fits into a small apartment and the arms of one person: my grandmother, Claire. My mother died giving birth to me. My father never existed in my life. Very early on, my grandmother decided that the two of us would be enough, that love didn’t need to be many to be immense.