She sat quietly in the playground and watched the other girls playing with their Strawberry Shortcake dolls. They laughed and combed the pink plastic hair, pausing to sniff the chemically infused scent of each doll. The boys raced around the blacktop in an impromptu game of tag, sweat making their faces glisten in the California sunshine.
There were only five other girls in her class, eleven students total. Simi Valley Christian Day School was a tiny private academy nestled in an equally tiny valley. The year was 1979. The Pol Pot regime fell earlier that year, Jimmy Carter pardoned Patty Hearst, San Francisco had endured a riot and American Airlines Flight 191 was going to crash that very day. None of this mattered to the girl. Her eyes saw only the corners of the white envelopes peeking from Stacy Patterson’s lunch bag.
The girl wasn’t very popular. She was neither lithe nor longhaired. This set her apart from other girls immediately. She was extremely shy and kept to her own. Most importantly, she had developed early and was teased mercilessly by the boys; the girls envied her.
None of this was important to the girl either. She only knew that she wanted desperately to feel one of those envelopes in her hands. Would it be heavy? Would the card inside feel smooth to the touch or would it be embossed so that the image, perhaps Strawberry Shortcake or Barbie, would be raised? The inside would surely contain an address, date and time written carefully in Stacy’s handwriting (or perhaps her mom’s? It was hard to imagine Stacy’s mother but surely the woman would be as beautiful and popular as Stacy!)
Time dwindled down and the dolls were put away. The paper bag opened and those white envelopes came out. The first invitation was bestowed to Stacy’s best friend, followed by each of the girls in her circle. The boys stopped their game of tag and looked on, anticipating their own invites which were promptly delivered. The girl rose from her spot and ventured closer.
The bell rang and all dashed back to the classroom. The children chatted excitedly about Stacy’s birthday party. The girl waited expectantly for the white envelope as they lined up at the door. She waited all during the remainder of the afternoon. There was an implicit consensus between all the students and it become more and more palpable as the clock hands neared 3 PM; the girl was not invited. It was a creeping dread for the girl and she felt her ears reddening, pinprick tingles on her cheeks and the back of her neck.
I’m not invited? I’m not invited. No, she forgot. I am invited because it would be cruel to not invite everyone. The boys were invited, so I’ll be, too. Please God, let me be invited. Please God, I want to go to a real party. Please, if it’s not too much trouble?
She dawdled after school let out, risking ire from her mother. She stood near the sidewalk and offered Stacy a smile as the pretty girl walked past but Stacy merely pretended to be engrossed in her best friend’s chatter.
There were only five other girls in her class, eleven students total. Simi Valley Christian Day School was a tiny private academy nestled in an equally tiny valley. The year was 1979. The Pol Pot regime fell earlier that year, Jimmy Carter pardoned Patty Hearst, San Francisco had endured a riot and American Airlines Flight 191 was going to crash that very day. None of this mattered to the girl. Her eyes saw only the corners of the white envelopes peeking from Stacy Patterson’s lunch bag.
The girl wasn’t very popular. She was neither lithe nor longhaired. This set her apart from other girls immediately. She was extremely shy and kept to her own. Most importantly, she had developed early and was teased mercilessly by the boys; the girls envied her.
None of this was important to the girl either. She only knew that she wanted desperately to feel one of those envelopes in her hands. Would it be heavy? Would the card inside feel smooth to the touch or would it be embossed so that the image, perhaps Strawberry Shortcake or Barbie, would be raised? The inside would surely contain an address, date and time written carefully in Stacy’s handwriting (or perhaps her mom’s? It was hard to imagine Stacy’s mother but surely the woman would be as beautiful and popular as Stacy!)
Time dwindled down and the dolls were put away. The paper bag opened and those white envelopes came out. The first invitation was bestowed to Stacy’s best friend, followed by each of the girls in her circle. The boys stopped their game of tag and looked on, anticipating their own invites which were promptly delivered. The girl rose from her spot and ventured closer.
The bell rang and all dashed back to the classroom. The children chatted excitedly about Stacy’s birthday party. The girl waited expectantly for the white envelope as they lined up at the door. She waited all during the remainder of the afternoon. There was an implicit consensus between all the students and it become more and more palpable as the clock hands neared 3 PM; the girl was not invited. It was a creeping dread for the girl and she felt her ears reddening, pinprick tingles on her cheeks and the back of her neck.
I’m not invited? I’m not invited. No, she forgot. I am invited because it would be cruel to not invite everyone. The boys were invited, so I’ll be, too. Please God, let me be invited. Please God, I want to go to a real party. Please, if it’s not too much trouble?
She dawdled after school let out, risking ire from her mother. She stood near the sidewalk and offered Stacy a smile as the pretty girl walked past but Stacy merely pretended to be engrossed in her best friend’s chatter.
The girl would shed silent tears later that day and act as if she were holding one of those envelopes. She would imagine choosing an outfit to wear for the party and then arriving at the party and allowing the girls to pull her over to the piñata or cake. It was all futility. An extremely dreadful knowledge held her heart captive; she was not wanted. It was a bit of emotional baggage that she would carry with her for a very long time.
This entry was posted
on Saturday, September 20, 2008
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that's a sad story...
Some girls just stink. I was a girl. I remember. I have a daughter. I do my best to shield.
I was particularly bereft to see the label "non-fiction." I'm sorry.
What does not kill us only makes us stronger.
I'm ashamed to say that I kicked her @$$ in highschool.
Such a poignant story and how true it is for many of us. I felt terrible until I read your 'vengeance' comment. Now I'm laughing on the outside...
I wish the only rejection I felt was not getting an invitation. I'm also very lucky to have had a sister attached at the hip so that at least I never felt alone. Enjoyed your post.