Not So Alone

I didn’t want to come here, but she made me. She picked me right up and saddled me straight down on the bandwagon to my hell.

I tried my best to stay within my sanctuary - I implored her to let me to stay home, stating that I wasn’t interested in going to the High School prom. It seemed to me as if she didn’t care about what I wanted; she just kept repeating the same monotonous statement, “You will have a good time, Sheila. This will give you a chance to meet a nice young man!”

No man would ever want to be with me, especially with so many beautiful women bounding around. What makes me so special? “I’m not attractive,” I said to her in an hysterical tone, “I’m not pretty, I’m not beautiful, I’m not appealing to anyone except to you, Mother. I’m nothing!”

I believed it all, I believed that I was nothing. I had always held myself as one of the most unattractive girls around. I’m not tall, I’m scrawny with brown hair, eyes, and I have a circle face, according to them. That’s what they used to call me. The kids. They called me a circle face. It made my insides hurt whenever they poked fun at me, especially when they came over to my desk and ripped up my drawings during class. They were so mean, like little horned devils coming to tear me apart from the outside in. They did exactly that.

I remembered that one boy, that dirty blonde tall kid. I remembered watching him stroll his merry way on over to my desk to pick up a piece of my work while the teacher was preoccupied with another student. He ripped it up right in front of me as I frantically tried to grab it back. His cruel words trickled through my ears like poison. He said they were an abomination, my pieces of art, and that he was doing me a favor by destroying them. I couldn’t do anything but watch the pieces of paper, my own personal lines of ink, fluttering aimlessly downward in a spiral, it all delivered me so much grief and pain, and out of fear of what the boy would do to me if I dared stood up for myself, I resigned my shattered spirit.

I laid my head down on the top of my arms, and cried. I cried so hard, my sleeve became soaked with a mixture of tears and snot. I remember there being two boys sitting near me at the time, but they didn’t offer any condolence or even cared to make an attempt to placate me. Instead, they did nothing. One of them even chuckled.

They’re so mean, I hated it… and now, I’m sitting here all alone along an empty row of chairs in the auditorium, watching the beauties dance with the masculine and attractive in rhythm to the rap and hip-hop music. I cupped my hands on my lap atop the finely laced black dress my mother had purchased for me with such enthusiasm. I can’t believe she did this to me; I can’t believe I’m here… I just sat there and allowed my eyes to drift around the auditorium, making quick glances at the clock almost every thirty seconds. The time crept onward, slowly.

I felt unwanted, sitting there all alone. I almost began to cry right there in that forlorn chair, but I held it in. I held that pain inside me, that horrible, gouging, aching lump right in my upper chest. It hurt, it hurt me so bad.

And then he came. A young man wearing a tuxedo, no older than me, came right up to me with a relaxed gait and a smile arched across his face. He was looking at me and as he approached, asked if the seat next to me was taken. It took me a second or two to compose myself, but I managed. I said that it wasn’t and that he could take it if he needed it. He tilted his head with that smile still planted on his gaunt face.

And then he sat down next to me.

I turned my head to look at him, his pearly white teeth peeking out behind his lips. He was quite handsome with deep hazel eyes, sharp brown hair spiked up at the front. He extended his hand out towards me and said that his name was Jonathan. I reached out and gently shook his hand, informing him that my name was Sheila. “That’s a pretty name,” he said, and as a result of such a comment my face began to turn red. That aching pain began to fade away.

He asked me how long I had been sitting. I lied to him, saying that I had just been dropped off not too long ago. It wasn’t until later on that he figured out I was lying and that I had been sitting in that lonely chair for a good hour. He stood himself up and kindly offered me a dance. My face lit up like a Christmas tree, a red Christmas tree, mind you. I told him I couldn’t dance, and that I would be a horrible partner, while doing the best to suffocate my happiness at his proposition. He didn’t control his flamboyant disposition, though, and laughed low and hearty, saying that he couldn’t dance either.

He reached his hand out, and I took it.

He whisked me up off the chair and on to my feet, catching me within his arms. I couldn’t help but smile, even though I didn’t want to. My muscles were just out of my control, but it felt good. “We’ll start slow,” he said, guiding me throughout the crowded dance floor. I could feel my legs becoming weak and I almost tripped over my high-heels. He caught me before I collided with the hard wood floor, applying the natural ‘are you okay?’ question as he lifted me up. I giggled, then, and informed him that I was perfectly fine as I brushed my dress.

I felt uncomfortable with so many bodies around me, but he found a little opening within the crowd and smiled at me as he started to twist his body in a short semi-circles, snapping his fingers in rhythm to the hip-hop beat. My gosh, was he doing the twist to this? I couldn’t tell, and I most certainly did not not know how to react to this situation, so I just stood there like a deer dazzled within the headlights of an oncoming vehicle, staring at him with his care-free position. He pressured me on, encouraging me to move with him.

I shook my body a little to try to get a feel for the beat, but I just couldn’t. My brain didn’t register the music, and my body wouldn’t dance. I looked all around me, and I could feel the other people staring and laughing at me within their heads. The feeling, that gouging pain within my chest, I could feel it beginning to reemerge from my bowels. After a few minutes I just couldn’t take it anymore, the pressure too great. I shook my head and said to him that I was sorry. I turned toward the entrance of the auditorium and pushed my way through the hordes of aggravated teenagers.

I stumbled through the double-glass door, throwing myself out into the cold, overcast night. I didn’t know what I was doing. I had just ran out on the only guy who ever cared to give me a chance. I’m so foolish, I’m so stupid. What am I doing?

I heard my name called out from behind my back. I turned to witness him coming outside towards me, the smile wiped off his face and replaced with an expression of concern. I lowered my head, ashamed of what I had done. I apologized to him, “I’m sorry, I can’t do it Jonathan.”

He just stared at me with his beautiful hazel eyes. He walked his way closer to me in the same demeanor when he first introduced himself not ten minutes ago.

“It’s alright,” he said with a gentle voice. “It’s alright, I understand. I shouldn’t have been so forward with you. It’s just that I know how sad you must feel, and I wanted to cheer you up. I kept an eye on you, watching to see if you were waiting for someone, or avoiding everyone.”

He cautiously placed his hand on my shoulder, as if to wait and see if I would bat it away; I didn’t.

“I didn’t mean to upset you. Here, If you’re leaving, let me offer you a ride if you need one.”

When he uttered those words, my whole body froze up as if I was being poised over the roof of a skyscraper with the bustling streets hundreds of feet below me. I didn’t say anything for a few seconds, his question still hovering within my mind. The worst thought crept its way inside me; was he being nice to me just to abuse me, to have sex?

I refused his offer, my body softly shaking. I said to him that I would take the bus instead and hastily thanked him for the offer. I picked up my dress and quickly stumbled my way down the parking lot sidewalk, heading towards the populated four-lane street. But, before I was even halfway there, I stopped. I stopped and contemplated about what I had just imagined, what I had said, and what I had done, and then it all just hit me. I’m such a horrible person for thinking something so sinister. I looked behind my back to see if he was there, and he was.

He tucked his hands in his pocket and casually walked his way towards me. I turned my head away from his, not wanting to lock our eyes together. When he reached me, he gently reached up and caressed my shoulders again, but this time he pulled his body closer to mine - like a hug. He asked me what was the matter. I informed him that I was scared. I was frightened. The next words out of his mouth would stay with me for the rest of my life.

“Well, I don’t know exactly what you’re so scared about, Sheila. Is it because of me? I’ll admit, I’m being a bit forward, but I’m not here to hurt you, you’ve already been hurt enough. I’ve seen you in both worlds of pain day in and day out, and it makes me sad to see you like this. If you’re worried that I would do something harmful to you, well, I… It’s not my intention, it’s the complete opposite of my intention. If you want, let me save you some money and I’ll drive you home. It’ll be safer than riding a putrid city bus at night, especially with all the creeps hanging around, don’t you think?”

I decided to give in and we both trekked our way to his old crimson mustang. He opened the side door for me to let me in, like a true gentleman. He turned the car on, and took me home.

That was seven years ago; the night I met my husband. My mother was right.