Como prometí, aquí teneis uno de los cambios del blog. Relatos de pequeños escritores. Y el de hoy es el primero de ellos. Lo ha escrito para nosotros Elena, desde Washington DC. Me temo que para mantener la magia de las palabras y la autenticidad de la escritora no lo voy a traducir. Pero igualmente, espero que os guste:
When I was sixteen, my best friend began to really get on my nerves. Her name was Rachel and we had been friends ever since the sixth grade. Like most close friendships, we spent a lot of time together; spending a majority of the time watching Disney movies, eating ice cream, and making prank calls until we could barely keep our eyes open. The longer we knew each other, the more our time together became routine. Even our outings seemed habitual. These generally consisted of going to school dances, which were taken very seriously back in the day as a measure of how cool you were.
Since both of us attended all girls’ schools, the school organized dances were one of the few chances we had to socialize with boys. Both girls and boys memorized the dates of each organized dance and began planning the Monday before. School dances were always 2 hours long on a Friday night, chaperoned, and extremely awkward. It was unheard of to go to a school dance after the age of 16 unless you were completely intoxicated or “forced” to go against your will. Boys showed up in their school uniforms- their version of “club gear”, while girls would go the extra mile to steal their mother’s mascara and spend all their allowance on a revealing sparkly tube top and mini skirt which they would insist on wearing regardless of the weather. What was most humorous about these dances was that despite the struggle and obstacles that kids went through to get there, most of the time was spent in the bathroom discussing strategies for how to engage in conversations with the opposite sex. So much time would be spent on this, that by the time one got out of the bathroom, it was time to go. Your mom would be calling you from the car asking about your whereabouts, or worse-going inside the school’s gymnasium to look for you. There were only a few instances when a couple would take over the dance floor and let their hormonal curiosities take control. All I can say is that it is a blessing as well as a tragedy that camera phones were not as prevalent at the time.
What I most remember about the school dances was that while I was there, I had a different persona. Girls were used to seeing me without make up, in a uniform, and with my hair up. While I was there, I was cool. The girls who thought I was dorky wanted to dance with me; however, Rachel always wanted to see me as the dorky kid, particularly around the “cool” kids. She would not let me forget that I was still the dorky girl at school despite the attention I was getting at the school dances. This was the one thing that bothered me most about our friendship, but I always kept it bottled up. I never realized how much it bothered me until the night we went to our friend’s sweet sixteen birthday party.
By the date of Laura’s sweet sixteen birthday party, I was fed up with Rachel. Everything she did annoyed me- the way she talked, her jokes, her new friends, everything! For a few months leading up to the party, we would have sporadic passive aggressive fights over the internet. We had avoided seeing each other face to face for awhile until we both received the news that we would be attending the same birthday party. Neither of us knew what to expect from each other, so it came to no surprise that Rachel would burst into tears at the sight of me with another group of friends.
At first I tried to avoid the dramatic show in the opposite end of the room. Suddenly, I saw all the cool kids who paid attention to me at the school dances rush to the scene. I felt all eyes in the room on me and I began to sweat as my heart beat faster and faster. Flash backs of me as an awkward sixth grader with a bowl haircut in a knee length dress with shoulder pads flooded my head along with ones of me loudly farting during a math test, followed by me screaming at my mom for some ridiculous reason. The only thing I thought to do was run out of there and get away. I sprinted for the doors and ran out into the quiet neighborhood. Rachel followed after me, only to continue to cry and not listen to what I had to say. I was getting so frustrated I sprinted away as she was in mid sentence. I didn't turn around, until I forgot to breathe, as I always do when I run. I stopped, finding myself surrounded by numerous houses that all looked the same in a circular clearing. I wasn't sure where I was or what my plan was for how to get back, but for some unexplainable reason I felt like taking off my hot pink party dress. I stood for a few moments looking at the ground with my dress in my hand, wearing nothing but a blue bra with matching shorts and skin colored pantyhose. “Maybe I should go find her. Perhaps losing the dress and appearing absolutely ridiculous would make her listen to me.”
Once I got a sense of where exactly I was, I began to walk towards where the party was. I found Rachel close by where I shouted out her name. She turned around to the find the biggest surprise of her life- me in a bra and shorts flinging my party dress towards her direction which landed only inches from my feet. “You won’t listen to me!” I yelled, while all she could spurt out was “Why is your dress off?” Suddenly, we both stared at the scene, taking in the absurdity yet continuing to yell at each other. Before we could make complete sense of anything, I became distracted by a blinding light which was approaching us slowly. My anger had taken complete control by this point. I began to yell in the direction of the light approaching, which I soon discovered to be a car.
When the car finally reached the top of the hill where we stood, it came to a sudden halt. I saw the door open and a large dark figure emerged from the driver’s seat asking for whoever was out there to identify herself. There was something very familiar about this dark figure’s voice; it was a voice I had heard before which implied that my whole little shit show had just turned into a monumental shit circus. The figure was none other than Laura’s father who noticed two missing guests. Without thinking I picked up my dress and bolted out of the scene, finding the closest van I could to hide behind to avoid any further humiliation.
My dress was finally back on as I sat crouched down hiding behind the side of a 1970s van. I felt that my life was over. I had committed the ultimate “uncool” act and would surely be ostracized and uninvited to all social events of year. I would be forever placed in the same category as the booger eaters, the public masturbators, the weekly bathers, and the star wars fanatics. When Rachel spotted me hiding, she seemed more eager to talk. We began to discuss what had just occurred. We caused quite the stir, waking up a lot of households in the area with our screaming. The complaints of the neighbors caused Laura’s father to go out looking for us. My revealing fiasco didn't improve the situation to the slightest; it left her father speechless and lost for words when he attempted to reprimand Rachel. He had simply told her to come find me and bring me back to the party.
After much convincing, Rachel finally got me to go back inside the party. We apologized to each other and everything seemed to be forgotten. She reassured me that no one at the party would probably know about what occurred and promised not to bring it up. We walked in acting as if nothing had happened and tried to mingle with the crowd. Everything seemed to be going smoothly and I felt I had the same spotlight I had during the school dances.I danced around to my favorite songs and ran around the dance floor until my feet could no longer carry me and I needed a break. After getting a soda from the refreshment stand I met my friends at one of the tables surrounding.
“So Elena, I heard you took your dress off and threw it at Rachel.” And that is how everyone distinctly remembered Laura’s sweet sixteen birthday party that year.
