In exactly fourteen hours, I will be sitting in English class. I might be that kind of high-on-life-happy that’s like a Red Bull/iced coffee rush. I might be completely distraught, head down on my desk, not talking to anyone, occasionally smiling as David and Yuuki try to cheer me up. Or, it might just be like every other afternoon, that nervous pit in my stomach that I’ve grown to know so well, even though I know I’m only going to put off telling him once more. But wait. Hold up. Whoa there.
Didn’t I already tell Jordan how I felt? I remember it clearly; the ugly mint green tiles on the walls of the hallway, the quick spurts of nonsense bursting from my mouth, the people sitting in the cafeteria in study hall, all different lives, all different problems, but none worse than the one that I was suffering through in that very moment. I remember saying it. "I really like you." I remember the look on his face, expressionless. No sign of a reaction. No sign of rejection, no sign of a happy ending.
But wait! I even tried before that awkward, nerve-wracking experience! I don’t even know if I’ve told this story. I was sitting in the band room before a football game, the homecoming game to be exact. I was staring intently at my laptop, messaging him. Earlier that day, he had asked me "So, are you going to that dance later? I would go, but I have no one to go with." My heart had fluttered like a butterfly. Maybe it was a butterfly, just one to add to the millions flying around inside of me. I didn’t know if I was going or not, so that’s what I told him. So, there I was, a few hours later, with money for the dance and the game, telling him I could go. He replied with "I kind of meant someone I would slow dance with and stuff." Feeling insecure, I sent "That’s kind of what I meant." He couldn’t go anyway, but that’s not my point. He didn’t get it that time, so I thought maybe next time. But, "I really like you" must not be enough either.
Third time’s the charm? Let’s hope so.
I’m just going to have to ignore the butterflies, put aside the sheer idea of rejection, listen to upbeat music all day, get a little dolled up so I feel pretty and confident, keep the perfect words in my head and say them all, right to his face. Then, I’ll hold my breath and wait. Seconds will go by like hours. And then, it will hit me right in the face, like one of Alexandria’s bitch-slaps. What will it be? Relief, hope, happiness, rejection, shock, sadness? A nod, an "okay," awkwardly walking away, one of those adorable smiles, a "yes," a "no," a "maybe," a hug—maybe a kiss?—a lame excuse, a happy ending, a tragedy?
The thing is, I don’t know what is going to happen tomorrow when I ask Jordan to the winter formal and tell him exactly how I feel. But, you see, that’s the beauty of it. Just the look in his eyes when he looked at me today in guitar club, it gives me so, so, so, so much hope. Could this whole romance thing actually work out for me for a change? In less than fourteen hours, I’ll know the answer to that question. I might as well get some rest. Big day tomorrow…
Fourteen hours later, I am sitting on the bus on the way home, kicking myself mentally, as I usually do. I had asked Jordan is he was going to the dance. He said no. The conversation went elsewhere. Why did I always mess this up? I either said too much or didn’t say what I needed to around him…
So, the next day, it was suddenly Friday. Everyone loves Fridays, but I’ve never been superbly fond of them. First of all, Friday marks the beginning of the weekend. I think that weekends are slow and boring, the same thing every week. Also, Friday is the day that all of your exhaustion, your nights of five hours of sleep, catch up with you and you find yourself so tired by the time you curl up in bed that you just simply fade away for hours and hours and hours until your mom wakes you up for lunch. So, clearly, I’m fonder of Wednesdays than Fridays. Actually, I’m fonder of most of the other days too. But, this Friday was just weird. It could’ve been a lot better, it could’ve been a lot worse.
I split one of my favorite pairs of skinny jeans, right at the crotch. So, I ran upstairs to my locker during Drawing to change into a pair of sweatpants. I locked myself in a bathroom stall and patiently waited for the girl in the stall next to me to leave so I can change without being bothered. She didn’t, so I simply peeled off my skinny jeans and put on the sweatpants. Who cared what these people thought of me randomly changing my pants anyway? Upon washing my hands, the girl stared at me like I was insane. She practically glared at me, looking at me in the mirror as I tried not to meet her gaze. She frightens me, to be honest. She was one of the horrible, heartless girls that tortures January, and she disgusts me. I hope she didn’t see that in my expression. I’d rather if people didn’t know what I thought of them.
When I reached my locker once more, my English teacher stopped me in the hallway and told me that she absolutely loved my latest essay for her class, a reflective essay about a personal event in our lives, something that changed our perspective on things. Mine was about bullying, and how January’s experiences have taught me to always be the better person, the one who talks to a person that’s being bullied, instead of talking about that person.
My teacher told me that I should definitely pursue writing in the future. I smiled and thanked her, and she replied with "No, thank you." Her compliment was actually not the first compliment I had gotten on my writing this week. People have messaged me on the site I use to download music and said that my blog was amazing and inspiring. It just gives me this great feeling, knowing that my life, the life that I resent so often, has inspired others. It makes me feel like I’m actually someone, you know?
I’ve noticed that all of the people that read my blog are either friends I met online or random strangers from other states or countries. But, I like it that way. Strangers won’t be so quick to judge, they will only read and tell me what they think. They won’t post my words all over Facebook and make fun of them. Let me take a moment here to say again: I hate Leslie’s existence. Anyway, back to my Friday.
The rest of the day went by slowly. David had skipped school to sleep, so I had no one to talk to all day. I took a History quiz that I’m pretty sure I failed. Never mind, I’m positive. Throughout the day, I spend a lot of time on one of my favorite websites, givesmehope.com. It’s a site where people post stories about little moments in life that gave them hope. So many people go on sites like SixBillionSecrets, a place where people anonymously post about their depression, eating disorders, abuse, disease, self-inflicted pain, and other things. But, SixBillionSecrets only makes me sad when I read through all of those secrets, people crying out for help in a place where they know that no one can help them. Reading so many pain-infused words can make anyone feel a little down. So, after I’ve had enough secrets, I take a break. I open a new tab and go to GivesMeHope. I smile at the cute little stories, because smiling
is
so
worth
it.
I posted about four stories on GivesMeHope today. I hope they get voted on and published. I want people to know what gives me hope. I want people to read my little posts and say "Aww!" I want them to save them to the their computers and open them when they need something to smile about, like I do with the good posts that I read.
And then, suddenly, I am in English class, tired but forcing my eyes open to read the interesting story that we had been told to read. We talk about daydreaming, and how we start thinking of one thing, and it’s amazing where our thoughts can take us.
Tell me about it.
In the midst of all of this dream talk, I think about Jordan. Jordan, with his sweet little smile and hazel eyes, his lame Chemistry jokes and "My Little Pony" obsession. Jordan, who’s so oblivious to the fact that I’m falling in love with him. I just want to know how he feels, and I won’t stop trying to find out. We talk about the dance again at the end of the day. I ask him to go "as friends," though I’m dying to say "I want to go with you because I like you, a lot. I think you’re great, and I want to be your girlfriend." But, I don’t say that. I don’t want to scare him away yet. Apparently, he’s "not much of a ‘dance’ kind of person." Maybe he would be if someone worthwhile had asked him to go.
But, I’ll go to that dance tomorrow night. I’ll get all dressed up, straightened hair, black eyeliner, pretty dress, high heels, the works. Then, I’ll have fun with my best friends, because I don’t need romance to enjoy a school dance, though it would’ve been a plus.
And, though it may seem like the only thing I have left to do, I’m not going to give up on Jordan. I’ll keep trying to win that heart because there’s something in his eyes when he meets my gaze that makes me want to tell him. Nothing that persuades me, nothing that demands me, just something that makes my heart beat out of rhythm, which makes me wonder if maybe, maybe he feels the same way about me. Every moment we talk, laugh, smile together my whole body aches with the need to grab him around the waist, pull him closer and hold him tight, and pray that he’ll hold me, too.
What I feel for Jordan is not just a crush, not just an infatuation. There are things about him that irk me, sometimes I can’t stand him, he’s not the hottest guy I’ve ever seen, but the thing is, I’m falling in love with him anyway. His flaws aren’t overlooked, just more things that are part of the amazing, weird person he is…
So, here I sit. The dance is in exactly one hour. I haven’t straightened my hair yet. I can’t find my only pair of black heels. I have a pounding headache. I don’t have a date. This night is turning out to be quite the disaster. I don’t even want to go. A slow song will come on, and I’ll think of Jordan, who will probably be sitting at home playing his guitar, silently thinking of a girl who is worth his time. But, I’ll dance with my friends, laugh, and act crazy like someone spiked my iced tea, just for the hell of it. Just because that is what I do at dances. I don’t usually have a date, I don’t usually inquire about one. I usually just go with my sister and have a good time, until I am sitting in the car on the way home, looking out the window, listening to sad music, realizing that I will never be the girl who will show off her boyfriend at dances, and hold him as they sway to the music. It’s still so true. I’ll never know what it’s like to have someone, will I?
What did I ever do wrong?
….
Time flies. I’m home again. The dance is over. I want to tell you a fairytale. I want to say Jordan was standing outside of the school when I got there, wearing a spiffy suit, holding a bouquet of flowers, awaiting my arrival. But he wasn’t. I want to say he showed up late and held me all night. I want to say we swayed to a slow song, wrapped up in each other, and I looked up into those beautiful hazel eyes and said everything that needed to be said, and he understood for the first time. I want to say he leaned down and kissed me, a perfect first kiss.
But, that’s not the way it went. He stayed home and played his guitar and got drunk.
I spent the night dressed like a princess, a princess lacking a prince. I danced with my friends, until they all got depressed over their ex-boyfriends and sat out in the hallway and talked about depression, and tried to make each feel better by saying that they were all going through the same thing. I have no idea how they feel. I don’t think I want to. There were free refreshments, which is highly unusual and a definite plus. I forgot to take pictures. I went home, my feet aching in the black heels I found shortly after I lost hope in finding them. I went on Facebook, where I talked to my friend from Mexico, a girl I know from band who’s in seventh grade, and Jordan. May I point out that Jordan is incredibly annoying when he’s drunk.
And now, it’s time to go to bed, 2:15 AM, Sunday morning. Good thing I’m not going to church.
No comments:
Post a Comment