Thursday, May. 02, 2019 @ 7:53 pm
On Being Sixteen Again
Less than one hundred hours until I have my own apartment.
Just when I have mastered nomad life. Just when I have fully reverted to my sixteen-year-old self.
I perfected the contents of my urban-professional-looking backpack. Clean underwear rolled up in a Ziploc bag. Toothbrush. Laptop. Self-help book. A tube of de-stressing essential oils. Phone charger. Notebook, pencil, pen, highlighter. Nalgene bottle. Travel sized shampoo, conditioner, and lotion. Two 87% cocoa chocolate bars at all times. Passport. Wide-tooth comb, Invisibobble, and a dozen bobby pins. Bathing suit, goggles, and small microfibre towel.
I work in the basement and Mom calls me up for dinner. I read at the table while they chatter on about their day with each other. I grunt one-word responses to their questions.
After dinner, I strap on my rollerblades and skate up and down the street. Cross-over turns at each end. My mind wandering away, thinking about making out with boys. This was every summer night when I was a teenager. Just add Slurpee.