The friend he took to the prom

Her name was Megan. She's 15, from a girl's Catholic school, while Z is almost 18, and I had never met her and may never again. Yet, the picture of her, rather the two of them together, clicked by my cell phone, is beguiling. Megan has her hand on her hip, which I hear is a learned affectation, and has a smile that shows full teeth and a happy heart. Z doesn't look so bad himself, in his pink vested tux! He is looking in the other direction, but it doesn't matter. I have not a single clue as to their dynamic. Did he kiss her good night? You know, the things mothers cannot ask. But, I like this Megan. I like her spunk. I like that Z wore pink to match her dress. They are immortalized as my screensaver, larger than life, and enchanting me this fine morning.