Here's the dance and I'm the one not dancing.

By Jameson Shank

“It’s over”, I thought as I awoke on the gloomy Monday morning after homecomming. The thought never re-entered my consciousness as I went through my morning ritual, which had become mind-numbingly routine. When I entered the school that cold October day, friends were surprisingly mum about the events that had taken place only a few days before. Everyone had gone back to his or her usual way of doings things. No longer was there an urgent need on peoples’ minds to prepare for approaching festivities.
I felt good that the weekend had ended, even if I now had a sliver of regret about getting that haircut for the dance. No longer was I trapped by the obsession of finding a homecoming date. I had accepted facts: I waited until it was too late to get someone to go with.  I ended up going in a group just as I had the year before, not as fun, but at least I had “backup”.
The Thursday before homecoming was a dreary one as the rain showed no signs of letting up before the parade. There had not been a single year while I’ve been in North Scott that I did not attend the parade. This year however, I had no drive, no need to satisfy what had become tradition. I convinced myself that I was not going because of the weather, but deep down inside I knew I just wasn’t in the mood. The blackened skies, which hung low over Eldridge, seemed to capture my disposition perfectly.
On Friday I had every intention of going to the homecoming game. I always went to every Lancer home game and I didn’t think twice about going to this one. The day went by uncomfortably slow and when it finally ended, a bitter chill met me as I left the school. That blackened sky, which had soured my disposition the day before, made the thought of standing on the bleachers that night unbearable. So, I made a bold decision: I chose not to witness the merriment that was to take hold at the game.
While hordes of students, friends, and family flooded Lancer stadium, I was comfortably removed from the affair. Some friends, who also chose to skip the game, and I spent the night stuffing our faces and capturing the moment with a video camera. Sure it wasn’t as exciting as a skirmish between the Lancers and Burlington, but it was still the best memory I had of that week. For a few measly hours, the stress and anxiety that plagued me for days had disappeared.
I waited until Saturday, the day of the homecoming dance, to actually purchase some attire. New shirt, new shoes, and new slacks- I had to look my best, even if I didn’t have a date. My hair, which was considered to be my best asset by many, was cut down to what I thought was a respectable length. My head was no longer topped with a curly mess of hair that had become all too familiar to myself. After picking up my male “gal pals” and heading to the school, we all had to suffer through the dance’s unessessarily restrictive security. If I didn’t know better I’d say I spent the better part of the night waiting in line to get into the pit.
The rest of that night was spent sitting on the sidelines watching everyone else dance the minutes away, or frantically trying to catch up with Tim, our photographer for the Lance. I had received plenty of comments about my hair from people who were saddened by the “unfortunate” loss. So far, the one major homecoming event I had attended was looking like a dud. After painfully sitting through The Black Eyed Peas’ I’ve Got a Feeling, the dance finally ended. As I went home, I thought of the clothes I was wearing which would soon retire to a closet, only to be worn on seldom occasions. I thought of the opportunities of the past couple days which I had so graciously missed. On that Saturday night, and the Monday that would soon follow, the radiant shine of scarlet and silver dimmed and faded away.