I’ve always hated relying on just anyone for help. With my best friend I never felt that way though. Once we learned to rely on each other we were hooked on the luxury of complete honesty. We marveled at its strength and I never wanted to let it go. So when he called one Sunday afternoon I was ready to rely on him for support. I knew he’d be there. At least I thought he’d be there until the night before, and my crumpled dress in the corner shared my doubt. Homecoming was a mortifying disaster, but I wanted to have faith in him although he wasn’t giving me much reason to.
“I danced with like ten girls last night.” He chirped over the phone.

I didn’t dance with anyone besides him, yet he had the nerve to gush about all his alleged womanizing. My eyes wandered to the ribbon of my dress and all the rumples created from it being tied over and over again. It was my first night out after months of being single and I was depending on him. The only problem was my spine was torn from me before I could even be picked from the shelf. While he attached himself to the girl in white, my ripped pages were being swept away. She was the princess enchanting her citizens and I was the peasant repudiated by society.

Provinciality wasn’t enough to charm Romeo. Not with her around anyway. I mean he had every right to forget me, his friend, his girl, his precious, I’d been through it all with him, and now he was letting some senior take my place, a girl who would desert him in the Fall. When she glided into the room a chorus sung to the heavens and she glowed in her own spotlight. All I could do was wring my hands together and gawk at him. We were supposed to be strong for each other. How could she stop us? Before I knew it I began to pace my room in circles, hungry for reassurance. Why weren’t our hands intertwined at homecoming like they were meant to be?
“Why do you hold my hand when we’re walking home?”
“…Because I trust you…You’re like my safe box.”

The safe box couldn’t hear anything after that. I didn’t want to. Like the hands on the clock, I stood still. Aren’t I supposed to be Juliet? The black dress was at my feet now and I could see it was turned inside out; I hated the girl in white; I hated my stupid dress; and I hated my best friend for doing this to me. Up until this point I had been creating a little story for us in my head. Where we’d only have each other and that would be enough to make us strong. How could he do this to me? All this time I’d been relying on a dream, thinking that it’d turn into reality. If only I would’ve known that reality would thrust me into independence.

Freedom crept up on me and wouldn’t let go and I was forced to survive the dance alone. My dress fell perfectly on to my body that night. The minute I got home though I yanked it off and let it land far away from any hanger in my room. When we went shopping for it I had to beg my Ma but somehow all the trouble I went through didn’t matter to me that night. I relied on my dress to make me beautiful and now it was relying on me to treat it better. Somewhere along the way I let my best friend bear all my emotions and now I had to stand up and do the same for him. Independence may be hard to swallow but without it people can’t depend on you.