All names are changed in this piece. Also, this is the best essay ever written. Ha. Okay, maybe the sidekick to the best.
The Sidekick
It started happening in preschool. Cute Brian was trying to decide who was going to be his girlfriend -- me or Stacy. The criteria was this: "I'll go out with whoever is taller." So Stacy and I lined up back to back, and I stretched my chin and stood on my tiptoes, but alas, Stacy was still taller. So Brian became her boyfriend. Fortunately, I wasn't that devastated, and I stayed friends with Stacy all the way through (our families are still friends), but I was always her sidekick.
In fourth grade, I was the sidekick to Maria. She was wiry and blond and beautiful, and her tan-toned legs stretched for miles. The boys loved her. The boys still hung out with me by default, because I was always with Maria, which was fun, but I was the one playing football while Maria was the one getting chased on the playground. I tried and tried to get attention, but I ended up waiting on Maria while she slowly peeled an orange and talked to Derrick.
In fifth grade, I got "in" with the two most popular girls -- Melissa and Janie. Melissa was the most popular, and due to a slight hint of chubbiness, Janie was a close second. They liked me enough that we all got called into the Principal's office together a few times, and my parents got some phone calls, but I didn't have 100 black Claire's rubber bracelets like Melissa, and I was slightly chubbier than Janie, so I was the sidekick. Really, I was the sidekick to the sidekick, because Janie was Melissa's sidekick.
In sixth grade, I rose in status due to loss of chub. And my best friend was Carla, and man, did I have a crush on her, like every other damn person on the planet, male or female. She was popular with the popular people, and she was popular with the weirdos. Everyone loved her. She had long, wavy, brown hair, and she liked horses like me, and she was a natural knockout. She reminded me of a thoroughbred -- long and lithe and graceful. Plus, she was smart, fun, wild, and of course, every single boy at school wanted her. On the playground, she was the best at everything -- tether-ball, running, even football. She could play like a boy and look good doing it. Every day, Carla wore this plaid, grampa-ish golf hat, and only she could pull it off. I tried, and I made my mom buy me one, but it looked ridiculous on my big head. Anyway, soon Carla transferred to another school, so there I was, a lost sidekick.
No matter. In seventh and eighth grade, I became the sidekick to Jenn and Cathy. They were the two tallest girls in the class, and they were equally popular that year. Well, they also both had quite the breasts, and I didn't. Still, we ran around together -- those two tall swans, and me, the duck.
In high school, I was the sidekick to Lisa. She was fun as hell, a bit unpredictable, and extremely flirtatious. She always had a line of boys waiting to hang out with her. I got better at my sidekick role at this point -- I even went on dates with her all the time. Constant third wheel. I never had a date. I just went on her dates. It worked out pretty well. Not sure how the dates felt about it, though. This continued throughout the rest of high school.
In college, I was the sidekick to beer. Enough said there.
So right now, I'm sitting here watching perfect-looking women on lingerie commercials, and I know that I'd look ridiculous in the clothes, even though they look awesome! I've never even stepped foot in those stores, but I'm wondering if any of those beautiful, successful women need a sidekick, because I'm great at it. Everyone has something to give! Or maybe I should have been on a talk show -- at least I could get paid to
be the sidekick? I suppose I'd like to be the one on the dates, or the one being
chased on the playground, rather than the sidekick, but dates
are overrated.
My job is to shake them up.
But I'm laughing and mulling this all over. See, I'm guessing that every single one of those people that I looked up to -- I bet they all felt like the sidekick as well. Maybe not to me, but maybe to someone else. Haven't we all felt that envy and longing -- the feeling of wanting to be someone else? Haven't we all felt like the third wheel? Haven't we all wanted a different body, more attention, or more popularity? And perhaps some of these girls, at one point or another, wanted to be me.
We are all the same. We are all human, in our hearts. We are part of something divine. We all matter.
It has taken me 42 years to begin to find myself and stand on my own, and I'm still trudging and learning, for sure.
But make no mistake -- I'm still the best at being third wheel! Ha. I'm looking for my next niche in this area so that I can once again fulfill my role as the comic relief and intimacy distraction for someone else's date that's headed for the gutter.
19,
C.A. MacConnell
