Grown Ups

It'll be raining in an hour, I think to myself on the way back to my car.  The air feels warmer than it did when I'd arrived, and I have the sensation of a warm, wet rag held against my mouth and nose.  I think of my dad, knowing he's the one I have to thank for my hyper-sensitivity to changes in the atmosphere.

I like the sound the soles of my Mary Janes make on the pavement--clopping along, almost like high heels but quicker and more self-assured--and my shadow on the ground--long, lean and proud.  Despite the humid night, I'm breathing much easier outside.

In Dan's basement, with our other high school friends, I hadn't been able to keep myself from falling back into the way I'd been then, a shy and doting hippie girl, scared by the sound of her own voice and unsure of the way she felt about anything.  I had been painfully aware of the way I tugged on my earring or pushed my hair back every time I had started to say something, but I'd pretended that no one else was aware of it.

Despite lingering insecurities, I had put myself out there, stepping into the conversation, heavy with the boring realities of adulthood suddenly confronting all of us, something we'd never envisioned from our posts at the lunch table, heads thick with clouds of varying dreaminess.  But we got here somehow and can do little else but keep going.

Scott had left at 10:30, as work for him began the next morning at 8.  Rob and I stayed a while longer, and the three of us had discussed jobs and business classes, apartments and commutes.  Dan filled us in on the summer internships he was deciding between and Rob recounted how the recording process was going with the band.  When asked what my future plans involved, I had shrugged by way of response, hoping that would be enough, then quickly adding a few acceptable possibilities, for the sake of conversation.

Shortly after 11, I'd announced it was time that I head out.  Hugs were shared, and I promised Dan that I would come visit him in Springfield, knowing even as I agreed to it that it would never happen.  Instead, I hoped that lunch on Wednesday would be an adequate substitute...

The TV had still been on when I'd come up from the basement, but Dan's mom was not around anymore.  I saw myself out, closing the door quietly behind me.

From the porch to my car down the street, I am relieved, content, thrilled to be moving again, one foot in front of the other with my heels creating a rhythmic pulse to accompany my thoughts; my mind drifts from the impending rain back to high school.  The me tonight laughs at the me then, the naive little girl in love with the quiet guitar player, the same one who these days she won't be driving distances to visit.