When I was six years old, I made what seemed like the simplest promise in the world.
My best friend Noah and I would go to prom together someday.
At six, I had no idea how long twelve years could feel. I didn't know how much could change between first grade and senior year. I certainly didn't know that the little promise I made with my pinkie would somehow survive childhood, divorce, heartbreak, new friendships, changing interests, and all the awkward years in between.
But Noah remembered.
He always remembered.
So when prom night finally arrived twelve years later, Noah showed up at my house wearing a navy suit and the bow tie he'd been talking about for months. He had a corsage in his hand, a smile on his face, and the unmistakable excitement of someone who had been waiting for this exact night for half his life.
I was ready to walk downstairs.
Then my mother stopped me.
She took me upstairs, shut my bedroom door, locked it, and looked at me with trembling hands.
"Christina," she said quietly, using my full name.
Then she told me I could go to prom with Noah.
But only on one condition.
First, I had to hear the truth.
And suddenly, prom was no longer the thing I was thinking about.
My mother locked my bedroom door on prom night.
That was the moment I knew something was wrong.
Downstairs, Noah was waiting for me in his navy suit, wearing the ridiculous bow tie he'd been talking about since November. I could hear him chatting with my aunt through the floor.
Then Mom turned toward me.
"You can go with Noah tonight, Chrissy," she said. "But only on one condition. I need one promise from you."
I stared at her.
"I know," I said, trying to lighten the mood. "That's generally how dates work."
"I'm serious."
There was something strange in her voice.
"Okay…" I laughed nervously. "Let me guess. Midnight?"
"No."
"Eleven-thirty?"
"Christina."
The second she said my full name, the smile disappeared from my face.
Mom's hands were trembling.
"You have to hear something first."
"About what, Mom?"
Her eyes moved toward the closed bedroom door.
"About Noah."
My heart began pounding.
"What about him?"
"And about me."
She sat down on the edge of my bed.
Then she looked at me in a way I'd never seen before.
"I owe both of you the truth."
And suddenly, I knew this wasn't about a curfew.
It wasn't about prom.
It wasn't even really about that night.
It was about something that had started years earlier.
Something Noah and I had both been living with without knowing the entire story.
We Met Because of Raisins
Noah and I met because of raisins.
We were six years old.
Our first-grade teacher had handed everyone those little red boxes of raisins during snack time. I remember quietly trying to push mine beneath a napkin when the boy sitting beside me leaned over and whispered:
"That's smart."
I looked at him.
He was doing exactly the same thing.
"You hate them?" I asked.
"They're old grapes."
I considered his argument.
"They are."
"Old grapes are gross," he said.
That settled it.
By lunchtime, we were best friends.
It didn't take much at six.
A shared dislike of raisins was apparently enough.
Then dinosaurs helped.
Noah knew an unreasonable amount about dinosaurs. He had strong opinions about which ones would win in fights, which ones were overrated, and which ones everyone else misunderstood.
I drew them.
Badly.
The first time I showed him my Tyrannosaurus rex, he stared at the page for several seconds.
Then he said, completely seriously:
"What is… that? It looks like a potato with arms!"
I shoved him.
He laughed so loudly that our teacher separated us.
Noah had Down syndrome.
At six, that fact meant considerably less to me than the fact that he cheated at dinosaur trivia by memorizing the answers before asking me the questions.
Our friendship was simple.
We were two kids who liked dinosaurs, hated raisins, and made each other laugh.
Until another kid decided to make it complicated.
"Nobody's Going to Marry You"
One afternoon, our teacher announced that she was getting married.
The entire class exploded with excitement.
Everyone suddenly had an opinion.
Chocolate cake.
Vanilla cake.
Flowers.
Music.
Someone insisted a wedding wasn't complete without a trampoline.
Noah raised his hand.
"My wedding will have chocolate cake."
Our teacher smiled.
"Excellent choice, Noah."
"And no slow songs, Miss Veronica."
"Why not?"
"They're boring."
A boy sitting across from us snorted.
"You're not getting married, dude."
Noah looked at him.
"Yes, I am."
"To who?"
"I don't know yet."
The boy laughed.
"Nobody's going to marry you."
I still remember the exact second Noah's smile disappeared.
He looked down at his hands.
Something hot rose inside my chest.
"That's mean, Roger."
The boy turned toward me.
"What?"
"Somebody will love Noah."
"Then you marry him."
A wave of giggles moved through the classroom.
"That's enough, boys and girls," our teacher said, quickly silencing everyone.
But I could see that Noah was hurt.
Later, after class, he looked at me with a seriousness that felt completely different from the joking we'd been doing all day.
"Chrissy… would you… love me?"
I thought about it.
"Maybe I will," I said.
His face immediately changed.
"Really?"
I suddenly realized I'd talked myself into a very serious situation.
"Maybe."
He considered that answer.
Then I remembered something my older cousin had been talking about.
"But first we have to go to prom," I added.
"What's prom?"
"A dance."
Noah frowned.
"We have dances now."
"No. Prom is when we're almost grown-ups."
"Oh."
He held out his pinkie.
"Promise?"
I hooked mine around his.
"Promise."
By dinner, I'd forgotten about it.
Noah hadn't.