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Just Me and A Dress

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If I were Cinderella, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d be at the ball, dancing the night away in some magical glass slippers, looking into the eyes of the boy I love. I’d hear the music and smell the sweet summer air. Then he and I would walk out to the garden and race each other to a bridge that spans a pond, sparkling in the moonlight. He’d catch my hand and we’d look into each other’s eyes, and then his lips would be on mine, and I wouldn’t be able to breathe, but for the first time, I’d feel like I could breathe.

But you see, I’m not Cinderella. It’s nearing my midnight very quickly, and I’m not at the ball. I’m sitting looking at a beautiful dress (one that was purchased; no mice here) that hangs on my door, waiting to be worn. It hangs there, and I sit here, and we stare at one another. I’m not at the ball, because there is no boy, or bridge, or pond, or slippers. Just me and a dress, two lonesome fools watching each other and waiting for something, anything to happen. I sit here and pray for a Fairy God Mother, I know will never show up.



If I were in some cheesy ‘80’s movie, the boy that made fun of me all this time for being a nerd, would see me without my glasses and with my hair down. He’d be standing beneath my window, feeling like Romeo seeing Juliet for the first time. He would realize I was beautiful, and he was wrong about me, and that he loves me. He’d show up at my door, and together we would go to prom, and then ride off into the sunset.

But you see, I’m not in the ‘80’s or in a movie. I’m in my room, and there’s no boy outside my window to see me take off my glasses and let my hair down from the messy ponytail it’s been in all day. I even check. Nope, no one. So I’m sitting here, looking at a beautiful dress that hangs on my door, waiting to be worn. It hangs there, and I sit here, and we stare at one another. I’m not at prom, because there is no mean turned loving boy, or limo, or sunset for us to ride off into. Just me and a dress, two lonesome fools watching each other and waiting for something, anything to happen. I sit here and pray for John Cusack or Patrick Dempsey, although, I know they’re far from adolescence, and even further from me.


If I were a hero, I’d be almost defeated by some evil forces that are trying to keep my love and I apart. I’d be on the ground waiting for death, just getting the first taste of it on my tongue. The villain (being cliché as all villains are) would stand above me and laugh, knowing I’m through. But then, I’d see him, that boy, the one I love, the one I’ve been fighting for. I’d find some tattered shred of courage and one final drop of strength, and I’d stand to my feet, and win. Then, I’d fall into his arms, and we’d know real love for the first time, because we know for certain, that nothing in the universe can stop us.

But you see, I’m no hero. I’m in my room, and there are no dragons to slay, curses to break, dungeons to escape from, or underworlds to conquer. There’s no one to fight for. I’m just sitting here, looking at a beautiful dress that hangs on my door, just waiting to be worn. It hangs there, and I sit here, and we stare at one another. I’m not dancing in the rain, or kissing in the cool glow of sunrise, or setting sail with a boy, because there is no one to do those things with. Just me and a dress, two lonesome fools watching each other and waiting for something, anything to happen. I sit here and pray for a boy to fight for, although I know I’m no hero.


I’m not Cinderella, or a movie character, or a hero.

It’s Prom Night.

And it’s just me and a dress.



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