Sadies

Sadies exists in a very specific year of my life: 7th grade. All the years before and after, this dance meant nothing. But in 7th grade, I lived only to be asked to Sadies.

I had never been to a school dance before, and I had never heard of Sadies. So when I discovered the nature of Sadies, I was filled with adolescent excitement as I foolishly thought it would be my savior. All the pressure was on the girl.

And what a girl she was. Chloe. She wore pastel shirts that reflected in her shimmering blonde hair. Her eyes looked like two butterscotch candies gently set above her defined cheekbones. She was a cheerleader, so even though I hated the school rallies, I crammed myself into the bleachers to watch her dance.

7th grade was a strange time for sexuality. Before 7th grade, "crushes" existed in the undefinable and unnameable realm. I liked a girl, but I didn't know why. Maybe it was the way she laughed at my jokes or the colors that she wore, but in the end, elementary love was just that: elementary. And after 7th grade, physical attraction became much more sensory and carnal. I wondered how hard to grab her breasts and what her neck tasted like.

But 7th grade was a strange time: where I wondered what her hair would feel like between my fingers, but even my most depraved fantasies only involved Chloe walking up to me, interlacing her hands with my stubby fingers, and asking me to accompany her to Sadies.

Of course, Chloe didn't ask me. She didn't even know my name.

After 7th grade, Sadies meant very little to me. To this day, I've never been to a Sadies. Never been asked by a Chloe. All my dates have been off my own momentum. Sadies was the one chance to feel the rush of being desired. I guess it wasn't as trivial as I thought.

I saw this sign today at school, and I thought about Chloe. What could have been, my dear.