Terry Garrett ran his cane along an edge of the wooden dance floor, counting off the paces to a corner. The 17-year-old snapped right, paced off a few more steps and stopped.
“I think we’ve got 144 square feet,” the high school junior said to a handful of other students. “That seems big enough.
“Let’s dance.”
Friday afternoon, six hours before prom, a dozen teens from the Colorado School for the Deaf and the Blind were decorating a room at the Patty Jewett Golf Course in Colorado Springs. White lights twinkled along the wall; sparkles coated lace tabletops.
Rae Cunningham, a school Braillist and one of the prom’s planners, led 18-year-old Joshua Hurt through the room, pounding her hands on each table.
“OK, we’ve got one – two – three – four big tables,” Cunningham said. Joshua reached out to feel each one.
“And here is the hors d’oeuvres table.”
Terry joined the two. He felt a sign.
“What does this say?” he asked Cunningham.
“Well,” she answered, putting on her glasses. “It says ‘Buttermilk Ranch Dip.”‘
Leaving campus
As deaf and blind students worked in tandem to hang more lights, Jeremy Levy sat alone in an adjacent room, wondering if he had made the right choice.
The 17-year-old blind student from Parker was part of the committee that set up prom, but he decided not to attend. He told friends that “the music is going to be too loud,” glossing over the real reason.
“I just couldn’t get up the courage to ask a girl,” Jeremy said. “I was too nervous.”
A van driver opened the side door for Jeremy, ready to take him home.
“You know,” he said, “I helped plan prom this year.”
“That’s great, Jeremy,” the driver said. “I’m proud of you.”
“Twist it and spike it up”
Meanwhile, a nearby dormitory was busy with 20 high school girls waiting to have their hair twisted, scrunched, braided and spiked.
Pilar LeBlanc-Parra, a teacher’s aide, passed in and out as confused cosmetology students stood, blowdryers in hand.
“I don’t know what she’s saying. How does she want her hair?” one hairdresser asked.
“Hon, how do you want it?” the teacher’s aide asked with her hands. The teenager replied and LeBlanc-Parra translated: “She wants it pinned up and curled.” In another room: “She doesn’t know what she wants. Well, now she says she wants it up.”
Amy Flynn rolled her wheelchair in and reached out to feel the table in front of her.
“Anything you think would look cute,” the 18-year-old senior from Denver told the hairdresser. “Maybe a messy ponytail. I want to look really cute.”
Only days before, one of the most sought-after boys at school had turned down Amy’s invitation. Curly-haired Austin Balaich, 17, took the prom-committee president instead.
“It’s no big deal,” Amy said. “I got another date. A new kid at school. He asked me.”
Queen for a day
Bass-pumping music all but drowned out lyrics, and the lights were dim. Deaf students shimmied to the beat. Blind students held hands and swayed from side to side.
At the front door of the clubhouse, Deidra Walbert, a visually impaired 15-year-old, entered the other prom room with her date. Her mother followed.
The woman snapped a picture, and then leaned into the 17-year-old boy, a student at Palmer High School.
“You treat my daughter well, or I’ll smack your butt around,” Renee Walbert told the boy. He nodded, and Walbert left.
Joshua was in the entryway, pacing back and forth in a tuxedo. Finally, a car pulled up. First a cane, then a foot. Melissa Riveros, 15, arrived.
“Miss Riveros, I’ve been waiting for you,” Joshua said. “I think this belongs to you.”
He handed her a corsage box that was empty. Melissa groped for the nonexistent flowers.
“Wait, wait,” Joshua said after a few moments. “I think I handed you the wrong box.”
He fumbled with the new box. Three white roses, with a sprinkling of baby’s breath.
Joshua dropped them on the floor, then scrambled to find the flowers.
“Josh,” Melissa said. “You’re nervous.”
Almost an hour passed before Amy finally met her date, 16-year-old Dustin Blackburn, at the doorway. His ride from the school was late, he said.
The crowd on the dance floor grew, first to 20, then to 40. Amy learned that Dustin’s family recently moved to Doug las County. Dustin found out that Amy is an only child.
The music stopped. It was time to name the deaf and blind kings and queens.
Amy left her wheelchair and joined nine other candidates along a wall. She stood in her pink floral dress, next to nattily dressed young men and girls in flowing gowns.
There was a scream of joy as the announcement was translated into sign language. A white “prom queen” sash was thrown over Amy’s shoulder and a dozen pink roses placed in her hands.
The deaf king and queen were announced and the ceremonial dance began. Amy stayed at the edge of the floor. Her king did not show up.
A teacher calls out: “Who wants to dance with Amy?”
“I will,” said Jon Baron.
He put his hands around her waist. They stepped together.
Amy’s dress swished across the floor as strains of Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be,” echoed through the room:
The strands in your eyes that color them wonderful/
Stop me and steal my breath.
Staff writer Robert Sanchez can be reached at 303-820-1282 or rsanchez@denverpost.com.
