I used to believe that fairy tale endings were possible. The happily ever after concept, with a guy that worshiped the ground his love walked on and that once they overcame the problems of actually getting together, things worked out perfectly. I used to believe that a man would do anything to get to his love, anything for her, concerned only for her safety and happiness.
Well, I was wrong. Naive, stupid, silly. It's all just make-believe. It's all told to young girls to make them hopeful for a good future, to give them something to hope for, and there's nothing wrong with that. There is, though, when the girl takes it to heart and thinks that men like Prince Charming and Prince Eric and the Beast all exist.
Ha!
See, I used to be one of those disillusioned girls. I used to think that my own fairy tale was just around the corner.
And I'd been convinced I'd found my prince already.
Jared Hunter sat next to me every day since tenth grade. He was tall and handsome, with dark brown, but not black, hair and the most stunningly mercurial hazel eyes. His smile made my heart race and his laugh caused goosebumps to break over my skin. He was friendly to everyone and always polite and while not the smartest student, he always tried and worked hard. Yet at the same time, I'd often see his eyes focused far away, as if his mind were somewhere else entirely. A daydreamer, I'd decided, and I thought it was rather cute.
However, there was a downside.
He didn't realize I existed.
I know how pathetic that sounds - all 'woe is me' high school dramatic, but it was true. Jared sat next to me every day for years (thanks to the alphabet and our last names) and never once noticed me.
But stupid me loved him anyway.
Sometimes I'd manage to talk to him, just a few sentences here and there. A thank you when he passed papers my way, a bless you when one of us sneezed, excuse me, small things like that. Sometimes I'd even try to start a conversation with him before class, asking him how he was and "Wasn't that homework assignment dreadful?". He'd always respond politely, but never really seemed very involved in the conversation, as if his mind were elsewhere.
Until he disappeared for weeks, not one person having a clue where he was. I was worried - not even the teachers knew, and his mom didn't seem concerned about his disappearance. It was like it didn't matter that one of us had vanished out of nowhere on our small reservation.
Finally, after a while, I cracked and called his house. I was nervous, my heart in my throat, because this was my Prince, my fairy tale hero, and I didn't know what would come from calling his house.
He answered the phone, sounding groggy and irritable, but I was just relieved to know he hadn't died or something.
Then I realized Jared Hunter was no Prince Charming.
When I asked where he'd been, he wanted to know who was asking. So I told him - Kim Harris, from school. And out of nowhere, he tore my head off and spit on the remains. He said he wished everyone would just leave him the "fuck alone". He kept yelling about people only calling him because they wanted to know if he'd been arrested or run away or something equally stupid or dramatic. He ended it by telling me to leave him the hell alone and never to bother him again because he was "tired of it".
Obviously, my Prince Charming needed to learn some manners.
Still, it hurt, because his voice hadn't been irrational, he'd meant every word he said. All this time, had he thought my small attempts at talking to him were annoying? Embarrassment assaulted me to think I'd been making a horrid fool of myself all this time. I fell onto my bed that night and cried myself to sleep. When I saw his empty desk next to me Monday morning, I almost burst into tears again and had to excuse myself to the restroom. When I'd stared at myself in the mirror, I'd seen a sad picture looking back on me, and I hadn't liked what I saw.
So I told myself to grow up. So Prince Charming didn't exist and Jared Hunter was an absolute asshole instead of the kind guy my infatuation had built. I was still me and I was still young. There were plenty of polite, eligible young men out there, and I didn't have to break down because the one I'd been fantasizing about for years now didn't act like I existed the whole time we sat next to each other, and the one time he does really talk to me, he bites my head off like a rabid animal.
So I certainly learned the moral of my story.
Fairy tales are lies. There is no Prince Charming, or Beast with a heart of gold inside. I am no Cinderella, Belle, Ariel, or any other type of princess. And there is no happily ever after just waiting for you to reach its perfection.
It's all just a bunch of nonsense told to little girls to raise their hopes.
And I'm no longer a little girl, so it's time for me to forget the fairy tale dream.