06/01/2026
It's funny how something as simple as a salad can become a core memory.
I was 15 when I found out that people made salads consisting of more than just lettuce and dressing at home. A classmate asked me to spend the night, I will call her Dawn for the purpose of anonymity. I was never the cool or popular kid but Dawn was one. People gravitated to her. If anything, I was weird and was constantly being asked by my peers why I wasn't "normal". To say I felt honored to be asked over is an understatement.
Her mother was going out to party. Dawn said "Let's make salads!" She opened the fridge and we made this ginormous bowl filled with lettuces, peppers, tomatoes, onions, carrots, sunflower seeds, all kinds of things. We tossed it all together and just as I thought we were going to have this super cool night of salads, movies, and just doing girl things (I'd seen Grease the summer before so I had expectations), she said "Hey, I need you to watch my sister. Cover for me?"
What could I say? One of the popular girls had asked me over, we'd "bonded" over salad making, and now she needed my help. Of course I said yes! Who knew, this could be the start of maybe me being accepted into the inner circle. She fixed her hair and makeup and got dressed in clothes my Mom would have never let me step out of the house in. And out the door she went to the car full of more cool kids.
It didn't work out that way though. Being accepted into that circle. Dawn's Mom came home earlier than expected. I was sitting on the couch, waiting for Dawn. She'd said she'd only be gone until midnight or so and it was well past that. I was worried maybe something had happened but it wasn't like I could call anyone. I mean, Dawn might get in trouble.
And so there I was sitting on the couch. Dawn's Mom asked if we girls had a fun night. I was just about to fabricate a story about what an amazing time I had and that Dawn was asleep when the back door opened and Dawn came strolling, more like wobbling, in.
Fireworks. That's the best way to describe it. Fireworks erupted. There was shouting. There was screaming. There was door slamming.
I was never asked over again. Dawn's Mom didn't trust me. Somehow, it became my fault because I was one of the "good kids" and I should have called her. A good kid would have. And Dawn, she never really spoke to me all that much after that. On occasion, but never like I imagined we would once we were around our peers. I mean, we bonded over salad after all!
