Pictures in past yearbooks captured the irreplaceable moments. Girls dressed femininely in striking floor-length gowns creating a vision similar to Cinderella. Shining satin, twinkling jewelry, and sparkling platinum heels reflected off the lights transforming a once dull, lifeless space into a ballroom fit for a princess. Ruby red lips outlined smiles, which defined the ambiance of the extraordinary evening. Young men flaunted ostentatious black suits and flamboyant colored ties.
Prom occurred once a year.

It was the high school highlight.
It was not to be ignored.
Walking through JcPenny’s, my three best friends and I ransacked the dress racks yearning to find the most astonishing prom dress. Like animals gathering around a waterhole in the desert, we searched earnestly to fulfil our desires to outshine the other girls. The endless waves of magenta, rose, black, turquoise, and emerald fabrics embellished with lace, jewels, and sequins heightened our expectancy of the coveted event. Although none of us had yet been asked to prom, our eyes flourished with excitement and anticipation that we would follow in the footsteps of countless girls before us at school.
Similar to many girls, my dream to be gallantly asked to prom monopolized my thoughts. My focus in math class drifted from the definition of slope intercept to imagining the magical moment of saying “Yes.” My dream starred Dayton, a guy who my classmates labeled as my “significant other.” I envisioned “PROM?” written in radiant, white candles on my asphalt driveway. A dozen crimson roses and a delicate hand written note left in my locker. Or better yet, a well thought-out scavenger hunt leading me to him holding a poster board exhibiting his vulnerability. Truthfully, it did not make a difference to me how he asked as long as I got to go with him. I enthusiastically waited for the time to arise when he would surprise me and perfect my aspiration.
Convening at the table in the hot, boisterous lunchroom at school, Dayton proposed that he wanted to take me out to dinner and a movie that night. Hallelujah. My brain could not prevent the idea of prom from emitting a colossal smile across my face. I intentionally had to slow down my racing thoughts to articulate the words, “I would love to.”
Later that evening, as we sat in his beaten-up, rusty 2001 Chevy Blazer, I anticipated the moment was finally approaching. Patiently, I had waited through a greasy dinner at Sammy’s Pizza and a petrifying movie at the local AMC Theater, and was eager for him to render it worthwhile. The falling spring rain softly hit the windshield, beaded up, and trickled off, resembling the tears of a small child. From behind the bursting clouds, the crescent moon peeked its head out to shine down on the two of us. My heart pounded inside my chest so loudly I was convinced he could hear it, and I had to unclench my hands to avoid more sweat from accumulating. Dayton was situated calmly in the driver’s seat fumbling with the strings on his orange and black school hockey team sweatshirt. He ran his fingers through his thick, blonde hair and gazed at me with his cerulean blue eyes. He flashed a heartwarming smile in my direction as if to conclude our date.
I waited.
Nothing.
We said our “Goodnights,” and I sauntered despondently down my quarter mile driveway and into the old, brick house. The tears fell silently from eyes. My once pristine Cover Girl mascara closely resembled a mudslide as it streamed down my pale cheeks. I appeared as an emotional disaster remaining still dateless for prom.
I could not avoid reflecting on everything that must have gone wrong. Why? Why wouldn’t he ask me? A plethora of possibilities dashed through my mind. Maybe it was that I had worn my tattered, light wash skinnies instead of my clean cut, fashionable Buckle jeans with rhinestone pockets. Or, that I had left my dark hair wavy and pouring uncontrollably down my back instead of habitually straightened. No, it must have been the eccentric perfume.
After I had a chance to calmly assess the situation, I realized he was most likely just taking his time in asking me. My friends concurred with my idea, promptly assuring me that I was overdramatizing the situation, and I should not lose sleep over it. The severity of my present dilemma was, to a certain extent, alleviated for the time being.
The next day, Dayton and I sat as prisoners inside the monotonous white stone walls of Medical Terminology class. I tried to ignore Dayton’s incommodious small talk with his rollicking teammate, Ben, and concentrated on the teacher’s white board illustrations of the different chambers of the human heart. I disregarded their conversations about sweaty locker rooms, Spanish homework they did not complete, and the new frolfing discs that “Jimbo” had purchased, but then I overheard something that seized my undivided attention.
“Who are you going to prom with?” Ben questioned Dayton probingly. I peered down at Dayton who was slouched nonchalantly in his chair, with his robust hands wrapped securely around the latest IPhone. The corners of his mouth curled up to yield a sly smile.
“Katie.”
After all this time of pensively speculating about when he was going to ask me, I discovered my answer. NEVER. Dayton had intended on attending prom with someone else the entire time. My cheeks flushed bright red as all the blood in my body rushed to my face. My whole body tensed and my contentment vanished along with my pride. I felt like a starry-eyed fool. My dream of prom was not going to be fulfilled.
Several weeks later, the celebration of Osseo Senior High School’s 2013 Prom ensued without me. My prom night included endless Orange is the New Black episodes on Netflix accompanied by Totinos pizza rolls. My date for the evening was my lackluster boxer, Freddie, who lay unconcernedly at the foot of my bed. Overall, I had hosted quite a self-pity party.
As the evening of prom concluded, my phone was bombarded with Snapchats, Facebook posts, Twitter mentions, and text messages shattering my idealistic fantasy of prom. Instead of elegantly dancing in the ballroom, the majority of prom attendees remained in the wild, unsupervised party buses for the night. The beautiful dresses had vanished and were replaced with tightfitting spandex and sports bras. The guys had removed their jewel toned neck ties and used them around their heads as sweatbands. The blissful smiles I had envisioned were replaced with expressions of intoxication and disorientation.
Prom was nothing like the princess story I had imagined. My eyes were opened to the harsh reality that my naïve fantasy of prom was grossly inaccurate. After considering the actuality of the dance, I was tremendously grateful that I had not participated. As Helen Keller once stated “Life is a succession of lessons which must be lived to be understood.” Ironically, people claim “fairytales really do come true”; however, my experience proposes that Cinderella’s story is best left in a fairytale.