Signs of Growing Up

The first sign of growing up was the rubber bands. Holding one in each small fist, Lottie knew her time had finally come. Or, at the very least, was coming very quickly. Probably too quickly. A dreadful, downward spiral of getting older. Lottie wasn’t sure how she knew it, only that she did. A year prior to this moment, she never would have given even a glance to the two perfectly matching ponytails; she would have surely snatched up the beige and hot pink pair - a year before, Lottie would have considered two unmatching rubber bands to be prettier and more exciting. 

But now, she realized suddenly that the blue was a nicer color to match her curly hair, that it made her look more… sophisticated? Pretty? Or that it simply was more attractive to wear ponytails that went together. Attractive? When had Lottie ever thought of that word in reference to herself?

She recalled the conversation she had had with her mother a while ago, about “Changes we go through” and “Signs of growing up” and other disagreeable topics. All the “Signs of growing up” Mama had mentioned had been ‘hair in unexpected places’ or ‘red dots on your face’, even ‘a sudden interest in boys’. Now, Lottie had experienced none of these things (especially not the one with boys) but as she slid the bands over her skinny wrist, she was forcefully aware that if this wasn’t a sure sign of growing up, nothing was.

Lottie peered at herself with uncertainty in the mirror. Her hair was damp from her shower, and her pale little face glowed in the dim bathroom light. She studied the roundness of her cheeks, the small curve in the bridge of her nose, her grayish irises. I don’t look like a grown-up. She thought with a frown. And she still wore her long hair in two braids. All the older girls she knew had loose pigtails over their shoulders, or stylish half-up, half down hairdos, the kind that made the beloved two braids of all of the little girls Lottie’s age seem childish. All of Lottie’s friends claimed they wished they could look so mature, but Lottie felt it was an odd, unwelcome idea. She didn’t want to grow up. She wanted to be silly and babyish. She didn’t really want to pick the two blue rubber bands, but she had anyway, without thinking. Like it was the most natural thing in the whole wide world.

She didn’t like it one bit. 

******

That night, lying in bed, Lottie still couldn’t stop thinking about it. Her wet braids soaked into her nightgown and made her shiver, but that wasn’t the reason for the uncomfortable feeling that covered her like a second quilt. She thought about her older sister, Charlee, who was off at the university. She was a grown-up, and Lottie still liked her. She was still nice. She was still a good sister. But she didn’t like to play with Lottie anymore. She said she was too old for dolls and play-weddings and picnics under the maple tree.

“You go on picnics with all of your university friends,” Lottie would say.

“That’s different,” Charlee would say. 

Did she mean it was different because her university friends were “mature” and Lottie wasn’t? That it was different because Lottie didn’t understand the grown up talk the university girls would have over their watermelon and biscuits? That Charlee just preferred the company of her adult friends than her little sister? 

Lottie sniffed, a sound that was part indignant and part miserable. If that was how one had to act when one grew up, Lottie was none for it. She wanted to stay a little girl for as long as possible. She never wanted to grow up to be stuffy and pompous and - and mature.

With these vehement thoughts, Lottie fiercely yanked off the two matching blue rubber bands and threw them to the floor.

******

“What do you want to do when you grow up, Lottie?”

Lottie blinked before answering, startled by the question. Her friend, Mabel, watched her with attentiveness usually unknown to the fidgety girl. “What do you want to do?”

Lottie stared up at the sun, rubbing her cold fingers over her dress. For the past few days after the rubber band incident, it seemed to be that this terrible reality had been pursuing her. Her father had bought her a new dress, the first in years. A boy, of all the bizarre creatures in this world, complimented her on said dress when she wore it to school, and now, this question had been posed and she had no idea what to say.

Even if she had been wondering the exact same thing for a while.

“I don’t know, Mabel.” She said.

“Well, when I grow up, I want to get married and have babies.” Said Mabel energetically. “And then stay at home with all of them while my husband goes to work.”

Lottie frowned. Her mama, and all of her friend’s mamas did that, but she’d never considered that anyone would want to do it, even years before they could get married or have children. And while she herself had never really considered anything else… well, not until now, as she realized that it seemed like a very dull way to spend your life.

Get married, have babies, take care of them until they are grown-ups too, then grow old with your hard-working husband.

Very dull, indeed. 

So that’s what she wanted to be when she grew up, if growing up really was inevitable: something more exciting than that.

But she didn’t say that to Mabel, who was looking very pleased with herself.

Mrs. Anderson then blew her whistle, indicating that it was time for all the children to come back inside. A flurry of skirts, braids, and laughter rushed by Mabel and Lottie, who rose from the bench they were sitting on. They ran after the rest of the group. They filed into the school, through the door that Mrs. Anderson was holding open.

Mrs. Anderson smiled at all of them as they passed, and they couldn’t help but smile back. Mrs. Anderson wasn’t particularly pretty, even when she wore her nicest dresses and put her hair in all the fashionable styles. But she had a wide, white smile that was very friendly and sweet.

Mrs. Anderson was married. She had gotten married five months ago, in June, to a handsome young man who came and picked her up after class everyday. He worked at a car repair shop, and always had grease on his face when he kissed Mrs. Anderson on the cheek. She would giggle and scold him for getting her dirty. Her students teased her about it constantly, but she didn’t mind. Blissfully in love, were Mabel’s words for the way she was acting. It makes it so she doesn’t mind a thing.

And Mrs. Anderson had a job, too. Of course, she didn’t have any babies to stay home with, but all the same, she was married and had a job. And she was blissfully in love. That sounded more like something Lottie would like to be when she grew up. A married, blissfully in love, working woman.

Lottie sat down at her desk, thinking hard. She could be a teacher, of course. Or a nurse, like Charlee wanted to be. She racked her brain for any other options, but could think of none. She had never met a woman who was anything but those two things. Her papa was a doctor, and her uncle was a construction worker, and her older cousin was going to be a pilot. 

But all the women she knew… Nurse, mother, teacher, wife. 

Was there nothing else?

*****

The signs of growing up only kept coming. 

Lottie felt like she was being targeted. Not only did she pick matching hair ties, but also refused her mother’s offer to put in her normal bows. “They look so babyish.” She had said accidentally, without thinking. 

When Mabel said that Jerry Allen in the fifth grade looked cute, Lottie laughed. No, not laughed. Giggled. Which was far worse.

She worried about whether her skirt looked pretty when she put it on in the morning.

She spelled the word immediately correctly for the first time in her whole life. Immediately was a very hard word to spell, especially for a fourth grader, which had to also be a sign. 

These, and countless other horrors made Lottie realize that impending doom was encroaching on her and her friends. Soon, they would be old and mature and boring. Lottie longed constantly for being young and naive again, when everything seemed to go her way. When she thought that she looked fabulous in any piece of clothing she put on. When she loved the bows in her hair. When she couldn’t spell even the word cat right.

So, basically, two months ago. 

A week and a half after the rubber band calamity, Lottie was sitting on a tall stool in her grandmother’s kitchen, feeling miserable and desperately wishing she was allowed to taste the brownie batter before it went in the oven. She swung her legs impatiently and watched Grandma Charlotte gently set the pan of chocolate goodness in the oven.  “How long will they take?” She asked, then gave the stool a spin so that she could be even higher. 

“Only fifteen minutes, dear, but you can’t have any until after supper.” Responded Grandma Charlotte, straightening and smoothing out her apron. “You know your grandpa wouldn’t like it if you got some dessert before he did.”

“You talk about grandpa like he’s a little boy who still throws tantrums over silly things.”

Grandma laughed affectionately. “Whoever said he isn’t just that?”

Lottie laughed, too. But she wasn’t feeling very humorous. All the signs of growing up hung over her head like a dark cloud. Evidently, Grandma could see this, because she asked “is everything alright, Lottie?” 

Lottie sighed and said “Yes.” She didn’t sound very convincing. Grandma came and heaved herself up onto the stool next to her granddaughter. “No it isn’t, dear. Come now, tell me. What is the matter?”

Lottie realized with a jolt that she was almost as tall as her grandmother. Another sign. “It’s only -” she said, then paused. Maybe Grandma Charlotte would think her fears were stupid. But then she remembered that Grandma thought that very few things were stupid, and continued. “It’s only, I feel as though I am growing up, and I wish I wouldn’t. I’d like to be a little girl forever. I don’t want to become an adult and get married and all that. I like myself as I am.” She stopped again, then added with a huff “I don’t see why I have to change.”

She waited for Grandma to tell her that she couldn’t see why she would say such things, and that growing up and getting married were the most wonderful things in the world. Instead, she laughed. “Oh, Lottie! I felt just exactly the same way when I was your age. I thought that growing up was the singular most horrible thing in the world.”

Lottie was shocked. Grandma Charlotte was the happiest adult she knew. She acted like every day she spent as a grown-up was the best day of her life. She never reminisced about being young like other old people did. She never aggrieved the fact that she wasn’t pretty or cute anymore, or that she had children and grandchildren she had to watch over. She loved being grown up. 

“I told myself: I am never going to grow up, I am never going to get married, and I am never ever ever going to have children.” Said Grandma. She laughed again. “And look at me now! Old, wrinkly, and having a conversation with my very own flesh-and-blood granddaughter. I didn’t keep to those resolutions very well.

“But, Lottie, all the best days of my life have been spent as an adult. The day I married, the days my children were born, the days my grandchildren were born,” Grandma Charlotte counted them off on her knobby fingers. “And all the days I have spent with those people since.” She waved her hands happily through the air. “Lottie, I have loved my life as a grown-up. That means marriage and children, mostly. Not having a job. Not doing something that would be considered to be big and amazing and important.” She leaned in, like she was about to share a secret. “But I did do something big and amazing and important. I made it possible for you to exist. And anything you do will be big and amazing and important, too. Whatever you choose to do as a grown-up.”

Lottie nodded slowly. “Even if that just means getting married and having babies?”

“Even that. Especially that. Getting married and having babies is a perfect way to spend your adult life, Lottie. But so is being a nurse, like Charlee, or being a teacher, like Mrs. Anderson. Or being anything else.”

“What else, Grandma?”

“Anything. An explorer. A doctor. An author. A painter. It’s your life, Lottie. You can be whatever you like.”

Lottie nodded again, suddenly more sure of herself. “Alright, Grandma.” She said. When anyone else had explained it to her, growing up had seemed dull and something that one shouldn’t look forward to. But Grandma Charlotte made it sound exciting. Like a fun adventure, instead of a dreaded future. Lottie thought about this for a moment, then smiled. “Grandma?”

“Yes, Lottie dear?”

“I know what I want to do.”

“You do? And what’s that?”

Lottie’s grin widened. “Eat those brownies.”

Grandma laughed. “I said when you’re a grown-up, Lottie. I’m afraid that you’ll have to wait for those brownies.”