Ride of Humiliation

They point.

They snicker.

They mock.

Why wouldn’t they?

Silver Volvos

and crimson Mustangs

line the senior section.

Trucks splashed with mud

fill two spaces.

SUVs park crooked.

They chuckle.

They sneer.

They gossip.

I’m not surprised.

Big,

old,

white,

dorky.

They call me

soccer mom.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Friends laugh

as I back up.

Even old stick-shifts

beat my mini van’s level of

“cool.”

Still better than the

School bus. 

Natalie

You were always so picky,

filled with such high expectations.

You went on dates,

said they were lovely,

didn’t return a call.

We never thought you would be

satisfied.

You were always like Jane Austen,

waiting for dashing gentlemen

to arrive on their fine horses.

You wanted charming,

but not cocky.

Intelligent,

but not arrogant.

Caring,

but not clingy.

None of them could be your Mr. Knightly.

Then he rode by,

swooped you up in his arms.

You didn’t reject.

Like Eleanor,

you gave into sense.

For he’s the smile on your lips,

the rhythm to your heart,

the life to your eyes.

Your everlasting happiness.

Within

Ringlets of honey brown

spring from above that olive face.

Those green eyes shine with life

as that smile begins to curl,

unleashing laughter.

Within that face is a girl.

A girl whose heart is as sweet

as the color of her hair.

As she laughs,

she peers into the mirror.

She quickly quiets down;

She is silent,

again.

Within that laugh is a girl.

A girl wanting to be accepted,

to be part of something.

Pressure.

Pressure to succeed.

Pressure to be perfect.

Those green eyes shift

from friends’ perfect grades

to their low B’s.

Within those eyes is a girl.

A girl who longs to be important,

to be someone.