Dear Dawson

Dear Dawson-7

May 17.

  Dear Dawson, I've always hated dances. You know this about me already.

I hate dressing up and dancing and my mother squealing obnoxiously as she repeatedly praises God that I'm even going at all. If it was my choice, I probably wouldn't be, but seeing as I don't want to lose or embarrass Connor, I'm going for his sake.

And maybe I also want to see you and Amanda together before I finally let you go.

But it's mostly for Conner. Yeah.

Did I already mention that I hate dresses and high heels? If I didn't then, yeah, they're terrible. As I stand in front of the mirror, I inspect myself. I look terrible.

Did I also mention I hate the way I look in dresses as well, not just the item themselves? I look like a muffin, but I just suck it up and slip on my nice converses. I am not wearing high heels. I'm clumsy enough without them. At least I wore my nice converses, though, I could have wore my old, dirty ones.

My mother was awfully ecstatic about the dress I'd so miserably worn, as expected, but the converses were a completely different story.

"Kindley!" she shrieked as if she'd been shot, scaring me to death affectively, "you can absolutely not wear those converses with that dress! I forbid it! Now, put on these nice black high heels." She shoved a pair of high heels into my hands before pushing me into my room. I didn't feel like arguing with her tonight, so I just obeyed and put on the stupid heels. When I was done, I stepped out of my room like a baby taking their first steps.

My mother squealed happily before grabbing my hand and literally dragging me to her "fashion station." I cringed just saying that.

"Curled or straightened hair?" she asked once I was settled in the cushioned chair in front of the huge mirror in her room. I wasn't familiar with all of these beauty terms, so I just gave her a confused face. She knew what I was trying to say immediately.

"Okay, curled it is!" she cheered with a joyful smile before grabbing a scary-looking death device for my hair that was nearby for some reason, "I think that will suit you best. Oh, darling, you're going to be the most-"

"Yeah, yeah, how long will this take?" I interrupt her, already growing impatient with the death device that is a curling iron. She thinks for a little bit before replying.

"With hair as thick as yours," she starts as she continues to curl my hair, "about two hours, an hour and a half if we are lucky." My eyes bulge so big I think they'll pop out.

"What?" I scream, "if we're lucky?" She chuckles a little before replying with a hint of a smile. Can she at least pretend to not be so happy about this?

"Beauty takes patience," she says as she continues my hair, but I just roll my eyes. After we are finally done with all of that, Mum decides to kill my face with creamy, white stuff and brushes. She calls it makeup.

DUN, DUN, DUNNN!

I will admit, though, I look pretty darn good after she is finally done with all of it. I don't even look like the same person. Okay, I guess I will tolerate it just for tonight.

Conner shows up fairly soon after that and looks really surprised by my drastic change of appearance. He literally gasps, but we do eventually get in his car after all of the pictures my mother gets us to take. The entire way there all I can think about is you, and I wish I could I just shake the thoughts. They won't go away, though.

Will Dawson be there? Will he be with Amanda? Will he notice us with all of this makeup and stuff on? What will he be wearing? Gosh, if he's wearing a suit, I think I'll actually have a heart attack and die.

Did you think about me this way, Dawson? Probably not. I was never pretty enough or smart enough or talented enough. You never thought of me like that.

When we walk in, I automatically see you with Amanda by the chocolate fountain. You seem to be having a lot of fun, laughing so hard that your eyes start to tear from it just like we used to, like I still wish we did.

Those same beautiful, silver eyes that I always used to- and still do- stare at endlessly glimmer in the lights hung on the ceiling just as they used to with the sun in the garden we used to eat in, and I can't help admiring their undeniable beauty for the millionth time in my life. Your eyes are my favorite thing about you by far. I think we have all figured that out by now, but I can't ever really get over them. That would be nearly impossible for sure. You're one of those people that are unforgettable. No matter how hard I try to forget you, you're the first thing I think about when I wake up and before I go to sleep at night.

It would've been a fun night if I'd been focusing on my own date, Shane, but the thing is that I wasn't at all. I was very focused on you most of the time. I wanted to see what you and your date were up to, supervise you almost.

I know that's really creepy-sounding, but I can't help it. It's almost like an instinct.

I read somewhere once that when you love someone, you tend to always check in on them and look their way in a public setting just to make sure they're okay before you do anything else. Maybe that's what this is.

Or I'm just a creep.

But whatever, high school is just full of a huge crowd of creeps and outcasts.

So, let's just pretend for tonight that I'm okay even thought I'm not at all.

Just tonight.

Love,
Kindley.