Diary of a Single Woman

Nov. 17

Dear Diary,

So, I have been thinking about my last entry regarding Jay. I know it was wrong to slap the poor guy, I mean, he didn’t really deserve, right? He was just doing what he felt was in the atmosphere between us. It didn’t merit the reaction it had. Needless to say, (more like: obvious to say) I haven’t heard from him since that night. I don’t expect to either. We didn’t exchange contact information and only absolutely crazy men would go looking for women on social media after she slapped him into a different orbital system.

I guess my reaction may have stemmed from a variety of personal historical events. Where to even begin with all of that? Perhaps, my first love (more like crush than love).

Way back in middle school there was this boy. Of course, he was the most popular boy on the grade level. Very athletic and social with other boys. He was their leader, in spite of the fact he wasn’t academically strong. Best of all, he had one of the cutest smiles ever. When he looked at you, his warm inviting smile with dimples and soul searing hazel eyes would melt you like ice cream on a summer day. I wasn’t the only one enchanted by his gaze. I could honestly say almost every girl in my homeroom would have some dreamy romantic fantasy with Dashiell. Dreamy “Dimples” Dashiell.

Dashiell. It was a unique name. Thinking about it now as an adult, why would someone want to name there son Dashiell? Granted, as a writer myself, I can appreciate where I have heard the name, but I didn’t know anything about books or stories when I was in 6th grade. I was your typical 6th grader: sleepovers, fashion magazines, shopping malls and more. That being said, I paid no attention to the history of Dashiell’s name.

Well, as fate (or destiny) had it, apparently I heard through the rumor mill, Dashiell was developing interest in me. What does a middle school girl do when she learns the cutest boy in 6th grade is possibly crushing on her? Go shopping for a new outfit to slay and impress, of course. And that’s what I did. With my shopping tribe of friends, we made an emergency run to the mall the first weekend when the Dimples news broke.

We scoured the mall trying to find the perfect outfit. It was a high possibility Dashiell would be asking me out on Monday, making the need to look my best essential. Hours later, I had put together the perfect outfit. Not too casual and not too fancy. A light pink crop top tee with a white pink striped short sleeve blouse. I complimented it with light blue capri jeans and light pink converse. I even scored a pair of earrings from Claire’s that were like Christmas tree ornaments with white and pink glitter encased inside the transparent bulb. Sure, as an adult it may not be my desired outfit, but for an 11 year old, it was perfect! Impressing Dashiell would be accomplished flawlessly.

Fast forward to Monday. D (for Dashiell) day! I walked into homeroom ready to impress my group of school friends first. It was, without question, exactly what I expected. They swarmed around me like a pod of dolphins flooding me with advice and information. We had less then 15 minutes to mentally prepare me for whatever was to come because first period I would see Dashiell for the first time that day.

“Remember, you have to wait for him to say ‘hi’ first, that way you know he noticed you.”

“Sis, you gotta keep your smile on.”

“Wait, let me try something with your hair.”

“Oh my god, where did you find those earrings?”

Standard girl prep and chatter. The passing bell rang like it was signaling round one of some fighting match. I exited my homeroom into the ring of middle school drama, I could visualize a referee:

“In this corner, weighing a little over 100 pounds, the princess of charm, the woman with wit, No wannabe Queen Kathy! And, in this corner, weighing around 130 pounds, the prince of hotness, the dude with dimples, Dreamy Dashiell! Ok, when want a clean flirt, nothing r-rated. Remember, you’re still just kids who haven’t even reach the peak of puberty. A simple harmless outing together, nothing more… and…”

As I entered the classroom of period one: flirt!

I double checked my perfume. Bad hygiene would definitely smother any chance I might have. Perfume, check! He was already in the room, surround by other boys. His friends I presumed. I walked passed him trying my best to pretend I didn’t notice or talk to him at all. I went to my seat, sat down and took out my books. I wanted to seem like I was preparing for the lesson.

It didn’t take long, but Dashiell walked over. Luckily, his assigned desk was next to mine. “Hey,” he said as he sat down.

“Oh, um, hey,” I nervously replied. I had to find a way to calm my nerves. What was that calming down strategy we learned in health? Deep breathing?

Dashiell started staring at me. I could tell he was mustering the courage for the words and he was formulating them both in his mind and on his tongue. Perhaps my beauty and killer outfit was leaving him breathless. Finally, he opened his mouth and began.

“Kathy, right?” Wow, he knows my name. It’s not like we haven’t been in the same classroom since the beginning of the year. See, not too bright

Taking a deep breath, “yes,” I shyly answered, keeping my sarcastic thoughts to myself. I understood why my friends didn’t want me to talk.

Suddenly the ear splitting ring of the bell interrupted our interaction. Dang you, bell! Additionally, our teacher enjoys the sound of his voice meaning there would be no chance to talk to Dashiell during class. Normally, I pay attention in class, but today it didn’t seem like that would occur. Call it nerves. Call it hormones. Call it just plain ol’ school girl crush. Whatever it was, today my focus was not on ancient history, but current events or sociology. I continued to ponder what Dashiell was going to say. I stared at the clock on the wall, willing the hands to move faster to recess bell time so I could continue the conversation with Dimples.

Eventually, freedom from the prison of history class came in the form of a bell ring. I gather my materials, packed, and started to leave. I noticed Dashiell stood up simultaneous with me. He put his hand out indicating he wanted me to go first (so chivalrous). I understood why he was such a high ticketed item. I nodded my head and walked in front of him. After we both exited the room into the crowded hallway of school, I felt someone grab my right hand from behind me.

I know, I should have known who it was. It was obvious it was the dreamy dimply dude, Dashiell. It was a moment any middle school girl would have wanted. This was my moment to claim him as mine ascend our social status to middle school princess and prince. We don’t have football games and cheerleading like high school does. There were no homecoming dances which announced kings and queens. There were no proms to attend. We were still classified as prepubescents and under that category were suppose to be unaware of this thing called love. I was supposed to be so excited with the feeling of 1 million bolts of electricity coursing through my body because Dashiell wanted to be with me. Out of all the girls in middle school, he wanted me. However, that is not even close to what happened.

As I felt the cold clammy hand gripped my own, I quickly pulled away. I did a 360 degree spin and with raised my right hand high enough to connect with whoever was immediately behind me with full force. I would have been happier if the recipient of such frantic force were a teacher. I would have happily serve suspension or detention. No. the victim of this painful punishment was worse than slapping a teacher. It was, (yes, you guessed it) Dashiell. He did a 180 spin and quickly dropped to his knees as if I were a professional boxer delivering a potential TKO blow to my opponent. Obviously a crowd immediately formed around us to see what was happening and what was going to transpire from the sudden violence. Silence filled the walkway as if it were study hall with the strictest teacher on campus demanding, “no talking!” No one uttered a word. Some were even afraid to breath. Each student was trying to piece together what they had just witnessed.

Dashiell, still shaken from the strike, stood up. He shook his head and feebly turned back around towards me. He was still speechless and once again trying to figure out what to say. I could tell from the look in his eyes he was confused about what hit him. I needed to come up with something quick to defuse the situation. Whispers from the witnesses were starting to float to my ears. I needed to throw something to the piranha who were waiting for their dramatic meat to gnaw on. I said what quickly came to mind.

“Don’t you ever try touching me again!” I shouted mindlessly. Maybe it was years of listening to my mother harp on and on about feminism and not giving into the whims of patriarchy. Maybe it was just pure instinct. Maybe it was wanting to provide the middle school drama everyone longed to break the monotony of middle school. Whatever the reason, I quickly regretted shouting it.

Dashiell, both broken and embarrassed, quickly become invisible within the crowd. By lunch the rumors were already a public service announcement flying around campus.

“Dashiell just grabbed her ass!”

“Did he try to assault her?”

“She slapped him out of self defense, right?”

“I never would have guess Dashiell was like that.”

Luckily, it didn’t go any further than just rumors. The interrogation from my friends seemed endless as well. I tried to tell them the truth, Dashiell grabbed my hand and I had overreacted. It was that simple. Sadly, the rumors had overcome logic within the students before I could talk to my friends directly making it impossible for the truth to be the truth.

“Why would you slap someone for just grabbing your hand, Kathy?” The one question I could not find the answer too. In the end, I opt to just stay with whatever they wanted to believe. Dashiell tried touching me and I stopped him before he could. It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t exactly the truth either.

As you could imagine, Dashiell didn’t want anything to do with me. Similar to Jay, he was too embarrassed to come near me; be seen by me; or even talk to me. I was invisible to him. I had put any opportunity I had to be with him in a concrete box, filled it with concrete as if it were a cop from the film Dick Tracy, and dropped it in the ocean. Perhaps I should change my name to Big Girl and be as ruthless as Al Pachino’s character: Big Boy.

This was the first time I slapped an innocent guy for wanting some type of romance with me. Did Dashiell’s path and mine ever cross after that? Sadly, no. We ended up going to different high schools. By that time, everyone had forgotten the middle school incident, but a feeling inside me still believes he left because of my reaction. I wonder if Jay was feeling the same as Dashiell.

Eventually, I do end up going on dates. But that’s for another story.

Good night, Diary. Try not to slap anyone while I am away.

Slap Queen Kathy