Single Red Rose

It took me a while to come up with something in response to Prompt #52, High School Relationships. Unfortunately, I don't have many fond memories of those 4 years. I didn't come out of my painfully shy, awkward shell until junior year, but as we all know, your place in high school is pretty much decided in middle school, at least in my small town of Dunedin, Florida. I was the nerdy girl with an old lady haircut who had to scrape together babysitting profits for the Jordache and Gloria Vanderbilt jeans (one of each--jeans were outrageously expensive back then) that had to be paired with mother-approved cotton granny panties that often stuck out the back of said designer jeans, K-mart shirts, and Payless shoes. This did not earn me a good rank in the hierarchy, but I did manage to have a solid group of 4 friends from middle to high school, girls from all different groups who for some reason wanted to include me. And, in all fairness, I didn't go out of my way to get involved--it was easier to  say I hated high school and be annoyed at the immaturity of my classmates.

Once I landed my first job, built up some confidence, and grew out my hair, a funny thing began to happen: I got the attention of guys, most of whom I worked with and who went to a neighboring high school. Popular guys. Football players. Wrestlers. Baseball players.  But, when these poor horndogs realized I wasn't going to put out (right about the 3-4 month mark), they found excuses to dump me. One even told me, "I have too much respect for you to push you into something you don't want to do."  I now realize the weight of that statement, but knowing he had someone waiting in the shadows who didn't need to be pushed upset me at the time.

I do have a high school relationship that sticks out--mostly because it never came to fruition due to bad timing and misunderstandings. It all culminated one fateful day, captured in this poem.

Single Red Rose
by Annmarie Ferry

Cheeks swollen and bruised
     wisdom teeth removed before they ruined years of orthodontic work
Tortured by a doting "boyfriend"
     a guy my grandmother introduced me to, a good Christian boy who had stalker tendencies
The doorbell rang
    who is that? my mother snapped, annoyed with the guy who wouldn't leave my side.
I answered the door
     eager to escape the creepy stares of Devon, if only for a minute
It was you
     standing there with a single red rose, a look of caring and concern on your face
A brief exchange
     you stumbling over your words, so weird for your overly confident and cocky self
I can't invite you in
     why after months of me longing for this moment does it have to happen now?
I smile as I close the door
     who was that? Devon asks. I drum up the courage--fueled by annoyance--to tell him to leave.
We were never meant to be
     when I liked you, you just wanted to be friends; when you were ready, I crushed you.
I still have that rose
     pressed between the pages of my junior yearbook, one you never signed 
A simple reminder
     love has a plan--one that doesn't always fit in with ours 
I sometimes wonder
     am I the one who got away? do you even remember that day?
I'll never know
     but I think back fondly on that moment, you at the door holding that single red rose.