“Are you sure he did not go home? Stomach bug or something?”, my friend asked as she grabbed my hand and wisked me from corner to corner in the school gymnasium. We were frantically looking for my prom dance partner, who seem to have suddenly disappeared.

The host of the party announced that the last song will be played and that everyone should go back to their respective original dance partners. It was our junior-senior prom and peculiarly, we were paired according to height. I know my partner wanted someone else but he has to stick to me since we were height-compatible. Poor guy.

You could search the whole world over
But you’d never find
A girl so easy to fall in love with
But so hard to get off your mind

Although it was 1990, Gary Lewis and the Playboys was played on our prom. An old teacher must have missed her own days and harassed the music director to play that classic song Autumn.

“He’s gotta be kidding me! He can’t just leave you like that!”, my friend’s voice was more like a scream now.

“Well, I guess he just did.”

Surrendering to my fate, I sat on the table, sipping my drink looking at the couples dancing cheek to cheek. I was trying to convince myself: This is just one night in my long life, no big deal. Halfway across the room, I saw another guy, sitting by his lonesome. I guess I was not the only one ditched by a dance partner. Somehow, that thought made me less sad.

In the middle of the dance floor, my partner is enjoying his last dance with the girl he wanted to be with in the first place.

This writing exercise is fueled by the writing prompt “Dance” at Sunday Scribblings.