he didn’t come.
I guess this can be filed under “sandra’s terrible luck with boys/men“.
At the end of my eighth grade year, we had a school dance. It was a tradition at my school. Maybe it was to distract us from the anxiety of starting high school the following year. But I wasn’t anxious about that. I loved school. (I know, nerd.)
Some of my friends had dates for the dance. I thought it would be nice to have one, too. I had a crush on this hot high school guy, but that wasn’t going to happen. I also had a little bit of a crush on a boy in my own grade. I knew he didn’t have a date to the dance so I thought I’d ask him. I wasn’t going to wait around for him (or any boy) to ask me because I didn’t think I was popular enough to be asked. I had to take the initiative if I had any hope of getting a date.
To my surprise, he said yes. Well, more accurately, he said “sure“.
The night of the dance, I made myself pretty and put on my beautiful dress. I waited by the front window for my date to arrive. He was a little late. That’s what I thought. But then he was a little later. Then he was forty-five minutes late. I was in tears. Mom wanted to take me to the dance so I could forget him and have fun with my friends, but I thought I should wait a little longer.
But he didn’t come.
After an hour, I wiped my tears and made myself pretty again. Mom took me to the dance, and I found a few of my friends shortly after I arrived. They asked why I was so late, and one of them asked where my date was. Telling them he never showed up was humiliating. But my friends were supportive—and very angry with my so-called date.
As my friends and I talked by the bleachers in the school gym, I noticed one of them looking over my shoulder. I said her name a couple of times before she turned to me. When I asked what had her so distracted, she said “nothing“. I knew she was lying, and I was pretty sure I knew why.
When I turned around, I saw my date on the other side of the gym, laughing and having fun with his friends. I stood there watching him, wondering if he’d even notice me. He didn’t. I watched him take a girl by the hand and lead her to the dance floor. One of my friends took my hand and give it a squeeze.
I wondered if I was a joke to him. Did he say yes just so he could stand me up and laugh about it with his friends later? I felt like such a fool. Thankfully, I had amazing friends back then. They made sure I had fun, but what happened stung. I never forgot it. And I never forgave him. Not that he cared.
I think that incident was the start of my terrible luck with boys/men. It was also when I started thinking I’d never be good enough for any guy.
And now, sometimes I wonder—is it really all of them? Or is it me?
They would never abandon me. Since they only exist as pictures for me.
p.s. — Seriously, is it me? I think it might be me.