And it’s funny how things change. How you once said you’d never be anything less than my boyfriend. How you once talked about us living together and making breakfast every morning. How you would say ‘I love you’ at any moment of the day, under no required circumstances at all. How I could call you in the middle of the night and not think twice. How I could stay on the other end of the line and just listen to you breathing for hours, without any concern in the world.
We all have those days–when the rain is thundering down on our windowpanes and we can’t bear the thought of dragging ourselves out from under the perfectly warm comforter to slosh around outside in our too big galoshes. The days when all you’d rather be doing is lounging around in your flannel pajamas, eating your weight in Ben & Jerry’s, and watching re-runs of bad reality TV you’ve got saved up on TiVo…We all have days when we feel like we’re just going through the motions, just passing through; we all have days when the rain soaks through our coats and weighs us down.
So to the gangs of people who understand what it’s like to not be able to put a book down, here’s to hoping. Here’s to encouraging generations to come that reading is where it’s at, that the worlds you imagine from the pages of a book are worthwhile. Here’s to reliving our childhoods and getting lost in the lives of characters. Here’s to continuing to constantly explore through written words.
My childhood was packed into this corner. And it was time to go through it. To dust off the cobwebs and chase away the spiders. To sift through each piece of paper and every accessory that Barbie could have possibly fit into her hot pink dream house and red convertible. To clear out some space and make room for new things. And I never thought it would be so hard. That all the memories would come flooding back so suddenly.
Sleepover is a coveted word in girl-world. You hope hope hope to be included on the invite list when you’re in elementary school. You have to own a cute, and socially acceptable, sleeping bag. You have to pump your moxie up, just in case you get the most fear-inducing dare of the night placed on you. You anticipate staying up way past your bedtime. You can’t wait to spend hours giggling with your friends. Upon hearing the word “sleepover,” all of these little memories come flooding back to me.
Back in the car with the radio low, after the sounds of cellophane ripping and first bites being taken had settled, we looked at our chauffeur, the one who had called the emergency get-together a mere night before, the “hang out” invitation that would turn into an entire weekend. She shuffled her feet and turned sideways before saying, “I threw every thing that reminded me of him out of my car window on Route 202.”
It’s often that I feel fear creeps into my little, bare bones like a chill from a snowstorm leaking through the cracks in my window. It seeps through the twists and turns of my bloodstream, until my heart is pumping faster at the thought of “I can’t.” It’s often that it makes me want to turn around and flee, chanting, “This is too big for me. I wasn’t made for this.”