I went up to the University of Arkansas' campus last evening to meet up with a graduating college senior only to discover that the place had been taken over by two neighboring towns whose high schools were having their proms that night. Old Main, the landmark that is known all over the state and is held near and dear to Arkansans' hearts and where I had wanted to do some shooting, was practically invisible due to sequins and bright colors and masses and masses of parents taking photos of their children dressed to the nines, their sons looking like they'd rather be anywhere but there dressed in stiff tuxes.
But threading her way over to where I sat on a bench taking in the whole scene (and having flashbacks to my own senior prom some 32 years ago!), came a smiling figure dressed in combat fatigues and Army boots, her sparkling eyes rather wide as she took in the festive scene, too. After the introductions, Lysa and I both began recounting our own prom stories and how the dresses have changed since we both had to wear one.
Lysa was a hoot, smaller than my little finger, but a personality larger than life. We joked and laughed the whole time we took pictures, the wind determined to mess with Lysa's long hair. I drove home afterwards happy and with a smile plastered on my face. I wish Lysa all the luck in the world and thank you for such a fun Saturday night.