Thank you for the memory.

Every time I hear this song, I’m transported back into a little black dress I got from Kohls with deep purple eye shadow pressed into the crevices of eyelids.

It’s 2012, and I’m slow dancing with a guy from my art class at our winter ball.

He’d worked up the courage over the course of weeks to ask me out.

He sat directly opposite me at our table in class, a subdued football player who chimed in with jokes at opportune times. We didn’t know a lot about each other except for what we observed in each other's art projects. He had a propensity towards green and used a black Sharpie over mistakes. All he knew about me was I was forever impacted by the film The Dark Knight and decided to use Gotham City as the context for a perspective project in class.

Not so slyly, I noticed he started to employ the help of other students who sat at our table to poke me for information one semester. They asked if I wanted to go to the winter ball, if I was already going with someone, whether I would be open to going with someone who, I don’t know, likes the color green, etc.

I knew he was itching to ask me and though no one spilled the entirety of the beans, his friends were making it painfully obvious.

I played dumb and let the slow burn sizzle.

The weekend before the dance, our class period ended, the bell rang, and I gathered my things and took off for my locker. I had a feeling it was now or never. My locker just so happened to be right outside that classroom. I saw him burst out the door, hesitate, and shuffle back in as I exchanged my textbooks for the weekend.

His friends pushed him back out of the classroom.

I sensed him inch his way down the hall, and then in one fell swoop as I closed my locker, he was beside me. He went right into his rehearsed spiel, asking since neither of us had plans to go to the winter ball with someone else, if I'd be up for going with him.

I gave a knowing sigh and said “Sure.” Before he walked away, he handed me a Batman Christmas ornament. Breezing past me, he sped toward a group of his friends who were watching the exchange from afar. They erupted for him.

It was precious.

The dance, not so much. But every Christmas I pull out that ornament and remember that guy from art class who drummed up all the courage he had, made a note I liked Batman, and took a sweet risk.

As I hang the ornament on my tree, I thank him for the memory, wherever he may be today.