in the aftermath of my childhood parade

i'm a teen who feels like she's growing up too fast. so i wrote about it

i've been growing up quickly these days

so much evolving has happened i fear i've forgotten all the me's that came before me.

from pre-teens to young adulthood there's been so much doubt, and pain, and misery,

but i guess a fair amount of love as well.

in my mind, i see a parade of friends and family, familiar faces free of stress, smiling, skipping through the empty streets of pennsylvania, where everything is littered with confetti and colorful beaded necklaces and snapshots of a childhood well lived, well loved, well taken care of.

but when twilight comes and everyone else goes home, i know someone will be left behind to clean up the mess.

someone, perhaps i, will linger in the aftermath of happy and bittersweet and try to remember the sound of my own laughter when i held the hands of my sisters, light as a feather between them, as they swung me to and fro.

i swallow a lump in my throat that threatens to form tears when i realize i can't.

little me made promises to her older self, as if i would be mindful enough to keep them,

and knowing i have broken every single promise has left my heart in a state of perpetual guilt and heaviness that i can't, for the life of me, rid myself of.

in my mind, i am standing in the middle of an empty road at twilight, basking in the glow of the streetlights that used to illuminate her bedroom walls, and i am crying.

i am crying because when i write about her-- about me--it feels wrong to write about her in any perspective other than the third person,

because i know that she's still within me but these days when i look at a picture of her and compare it to the reflection i see in the mirror, i barely recognize myself in her eyes.

those eyes; doe-like and full of wonder and wanderlust and innocence and love

is it really a worthy payoff to trade maturity for happiness?

to trade wisdom for a lack of creativity?

i don't know the answers, and i'm afraid to look for them.

i take a few steps forward onto the sidewalk and feel the residual energy of a thunderstorm, and a little girl dancing as a tribute to its lightshow, talking to the clouds as though they were a close friend coming home from a long vacation.

"louder!" she'd say,

"give me the prettiest and biggest lightning bolt you've ever made!"

and like a proud ruler of the elements and the earth beneath her, she praised the sky whenever its behavior happened to coincide with her words,

puddle jumping in excitement and seemingly unending enjoyment,

entertained by the most mundane things, like a funny word or a funny face.

and i think i remember her. or at least i want to.

i think i remember what it was like to have the ability to daydream vividly, colorfully, and freely.

i think i remember the feeling of comfort and security when her siblings hugged her after a long time of being away,

or the feeling of being young and naive, so innocent and ignorant to the concept of pain and turmoil and the reality that everyone she knows and loves will someday die.

in the aftermath of my childhood parade, i expected to finally feel at home again.

i thought i would find solace in the idea that these are the streets that my tiny feet learned to walk on

the parking lot of a middle school, now a high school under a different name

the place i learned to ride a bike without training wheels, my sister guiding and encouraging me no matter how many times i fell

but the house i had the fondest moments in now belong to a different life

a different family, a different time

i am lingering in these streets and wondering if i'll ever feel the way i did on the first day of kindergarten,

if i'll ever feel the excitement of going someplace new

if i'll ever feel the happiness of 6 year old me, opening presents on her birthday in a silver tiara and a black and gold silk dress, 

effortlessly and genuinely smiling for the camera,

not caring if she looked silly, not even caring where the pictures end up.

i stand in my hometown, and i can feel the memories slipping through my fingers, melting together until i can't distinguish reality from what my mind made up in denial of forgetting.

a birthday party, a family gathering, a holiday get-together, just one detail shorter in story length, until one detail becomes two, and two becomes a dozen,

until i come to terms with the idea that these translucent memories are not permanent, just like everything else in this universe.

and in this moment, after my childhood parade has ended and the happy-go-lucky energy of the me i was before pain, before maturity, has faded, i realize that i truly cannot remember the sound of her laughter.

because her laughter is just too intertwined with my weeping,

her smiles echoing the shape of my frown,

her innocence mirroring my impurities.

i want to tell her that i'm sorry, that i miss her, that i didn't expect to grow up so quickly, that i'm scared of forgetting her.

i want to see her again, to be her again, to feel things as intensely as she felt them.

but no matter the nostalgia, no matter the impossibility of time travel, no matter how vibrant and beautiful the grass is on her side of the lehigh valley,

i suppose i'll always be able to play her favorite song and sing along to the tune of my yesterday, and use it as an anthem for the rest of my tomorrows

Reviews

[KCthelastboyscout]

This is a true inspiration of nostalgia. Eloquently written and well crafted.it's so moving and poignant I had to stop to reading halfway and take in what u were writing about and reminisce about my own childhood. Thank you for sharing something beautiful

[Chris]

This was quite a coming-of-age piece. I appreciated the honesty and heart likely way more than you will know or realize. Thank you miss.