I wait and watch the crowd of people wandering the busy, noisy streets. They pass me only to pass a fleeting glance in my direction. I do not follow. Although some may beckon and call my name.
I am waiting. I feel like a strange looking doll sitting on the shelf in a toy store. I sit there and wait for him. For him to come and pick me out among all the dolls on the shelves.
Will he find me? Is he on his way?
The clock chimes. Twelve times. Twelve was the magic number for Cinderella. What will be my magic number? Is my time running out?
The crowd is thinning out. Most people have moved from the one room apartment of the present into their dream house of the future.
And yet, still I wait. Does he know I am waiting for him? Is he looking for me at all? Maybe he’s already happy with his life and doesn’t realize that I am part of his future.
Hours, days, months pass. Season after season. And still I must wait. Until he realizes I am there waiting. Until he finds me.
A few days ago, I was feeling very wistful and wishful. I guess it was because I was just thinking about how many of my friends have their special someone already, and some of them are even younger than me. I was just wishing that I had the same thing, so I do what I always do when I’m sad. I write. And that is what I wrote during class when I was bored.
I was also kind of angry….for stupid reasons. I was angry at “him,” even though I have no idea who “he” is. Why was I angry at “him?” Because “he” still hasn’t found me. And even though I’m waiting for “him,” who knows how many girlfriends “he” has had already. “He” might even have a girlfriend now and not even care that she isn’t part of “his” future….I am. And then…..I got angry at “the girl” that “he” might be with now. I mean, that’s just ridiculous!!! I’ve never even met “her,” and I don’t know if “she” even exists!!!
I don’t know how all of this got into my head. It’s probably because Valentine’s Day is approaching, and I see so many couples all around me.
But…my friend might be having a Boys Suck Party, and she invited me. I suggested that we bake a cake in the shape of a boy’s head with a knife going through the middle.