"Grow up"

15 years-old

“Grow up,” my little brother, Danny, mutters angrily as he shakes his head and quickly passes by me to take the remainder of a pizza downstairs to the basement. 

I flash him a huge grin, attempting to contain a laugh bubbling to the surface.   

“What?” I say innocently, acting as if I have no idea what he could possibly be talking about. 

Danny’s upset because I picked all the pepperoni off again; it’s a game I like to play – a comforting routine, even. I somehow have a sixth sense to whenever my brother comes home; I emerge through my bedroom door on the other side of the house, and quietly sneak into the kitchen with the 10-minutes or less I have to diligently and meticulously take every single piece of pepperoni off the pizza he makes every day. I think it’s hilarious; Danny always gets pissed. But he never fails to take the new and improved cheese pizza with him and eat the entirety of the disheveled slices.

As I’m watching my brother leave the premises, a giddy feeling encompasses me as my phone vibrates against the counter. 

‘I hope it’s Kyle,’ I can’t help but think. I make myself wait 2-minutes before finally flipping my phone over –

Carol: Hey, do you have any hairspray?

Ugh, it’s Carol, my best friend. She also lives a few blocks away.

Me: Yeah, want me to bring it when you pick me up?

Carol: That’d be great. Thanks!

We’re both on the dance team, (as are most of our friends in high school), and we have a half-time performance tonight at the football game where my boyfriend, Kyle, is playing. I never took dancing or cheerleading seriously, even though I was on both teams, so I relied on Carol to tell me when we were and weren’t performing and what ridiculous outfit I had to put on for the night. 

Me: Does the French braid go on the right or the left?

Carol: Right! And remember to bring your white boots.

Me: Gold glitter? Or no glitter tonight?

Carol: Gold 

Me: Thanks

I walk into my bathroom and stretch my arms above my head, opening my mouth wide to let a long yawn escape. My shirt rides up my stomach, and I notice pleasantly how tanned my body is from laying outside all summer. My dark hair almost reaches my belly-button now, and glides through my fingers as I pull three strands into a braid. I make it loose and free pieces around my face so it looks more effortless. The bathroom vanity lights catch golden flakes as I drop my gaze from my hair to my eyes; I study them as I contemplate how dark I should do my makeup for the evening. Kyle once told me he loves my eyes; I think they are quite boring. I wished they were green, or bright blue, or anything but brown. 

I don’t like to wear any face makeup, so I rub in a little concealer for my dark circles and draw black eyeliner around the shape of my eyes, smudging the bottom along the lower lash line. After I curl my upper lashes, I open my “Better than Sex” mascara bottle and stroke the brush slowly across my lashes, beginning at the inner corner and moving to the outer. Lastly, I open a drawer to my right underneath the sink and pull the glitter out. I wet a makeup brush and dip it into the gold sparkles, and then rub the brush across my eyelids just above the eyeliner. A few dozen glitter flakes cascade down my face, onto my cheeks and nose, giving my face a luminescent appearance. I take a step back and inspect my work.

The dark eyeliner combined with the gold glitter make my eyes look lighter – almost hazel – as they reflect the vanity lights. My lips are naturally a few shades brighter as I had slightly sunburned them last week at the pool, matching the color of my cheeks and the bridge of my nose. Secretly, I love getting just the right amount of sunburnt…it reminds me of times I vacationed in Florida with my family, and an ocean or a salty breeze. 

My phone vibrates on the bathroom counter and I glance at who texted me.

Kyle: Hey beautiful, good luck at half-time tonight. I’ll see you after – Bdubs?

I can’t help but do a quick happy dance before I respond.

Me: Good luck to you!!! Yeah I’ll text you after – I’m sure there will be a group going. I’ll be cheering for you!

Kyle: Sounds good, thanks. I loooooveee youuuuuu

Me: I looooveeee youuuu too 

Throwing on a pair of yoga pants, some Uggs, and my friend’s basketball t-shirt I had borrowed, I stuff my dance outfit and white boots into my yellow, beaten duffel bag and text Carol I’m ready. All I’m thinking about is tonight. I recite the routine in my head – ‘Double-kick, roundabout, high kick, high kick, ball switch…’ 

My mind ends up wandering…My family will be cheering for me in the stands. I can’t wait to hug my sisters. I hope Kyle plays well. I wonder if anyone is getting asked to homecoming tonight. Is Carol still thinking about going with John? I hope we’re in the same group. Hopefully Katerina’s parents let us use her hot tub tonight after Bdubs. Maybe I’ll ask a Senior to get us some whipped cream Smirnoff again from a gas station…

Carol rolls up in my roundabout driveway in her blue Honda, honking the horn to signal me to come outside. When I step through the side door, I hear country music blaring through the windows. Darius Rucker – “Wagon Wheel.” A classic Carol song.

I flash her a bright smile that stretches from one side of my face to the other – the kind that makes your eyes crinkle - waving one arm with the other struggling to carry my duffel bag. A feeling of joy bursts inside me, along with gratefulness. For what? It’s difficult to describe…I guess I’m just thankful for tonight, for my friends, for my boyfriend, for my family – for my life. I don’t care about the C- I received on my pre-calc test, and haven’t thought about college yet. I don’t care that I’m not the best dancer or cheerleader; I’m just thankful I made the team. Instagram and Tik Tok aren’t around yet, so I rarely compare myself to other people. I don’t care about how much I weigh, or how my clothes fit. All I’m thinking about is tonight – how much fun it will be, and that I can’t wait to hang out with Kyle – a boy who thinks I’m beautiful.

Carefree, without a worry in the world. 15-years old, and truly happy. 

25-years old

I’m standing along the edge of a rooftop bar in Los Angeles, California. The lights of the vast city stretch into the far distance; horns and sirens of traffic running beneath me fill my ears with the sounds of nightlife mixed with house music the DJ is playing. I’m two tequila sodas deep (my signature drink of choice now), so a familiar buzzing sensation is ever-so-slightly present in my excited mind. Standing beside me is the guy I’m talking to – Walter. He’s an engineer at the company we both work for, staffed a few ranks above me. I’m an intern at said company, hoping to get hired once I finish graduate school. I love when he’s around; I can literally do or say anything and he’d still look at me as if I’m a queen that should be worshipped. 

“What are you thinking about?” His soft green eyes search my deep blue ones (I had bought colored contact lenses). He’s standing so close; I imagine how soft and warm his burgundy sweater would feel wrapped around me. I flash him a wild smile and run my fingers through my dyed, dirty blonde hair, flipping it over my shoulder, then look out into the beyond.

“Don’t you just feel like you’re living the dream? Right here, right now – we’re in the center of the world, Walter. Los Angeles, baby! Don’t you just LOVE it here?”

I laugh effortlessly, leaning against the clear railing and stretching my arms out as if attempting to envelope the whole city.

“This is all ours. People DREAM about this – this life. And we get to live it. We worked hard for this. Ah, God I frickin’ love it. Don’t you just feel like you’re living the dream?” I ask him again.

Instead of looking at me like I’m a crazy person, Walter shakes his head up and down, laughing along with me. His laugh is pure and sweet; I can always decipher if a guy is honest by the way he laughs. He’s giving me that doting look – the one that makes me feel as if he’s in love with me and understands every emotion I feel (to his credit, it’s a lot of emotions).

I turn back to him, grinning stupidly, and study his light green eyes. The rim of each pupil is outlined by the brightest gold I have ever seen – almost yellow. God, I love those eyes. How is it that someone can make me feel so safe with just one glance? 

I wrap my arms around his neck and from behind him, my best friend, Helen, walks up with a huge smile. Her chocolate brown eyes are outlined in thick black eyeliner, and her dark, Greek skin almost blends into her black sweater and jeans. She also works with Walter and I; her father is the COO of the company we work for in the Americas. We became friends instantly once she moved from New York; we parallel each other perfectly. I bring out the fun side by making her dance and get a little tipsy, and she’s the responsible one who always ensures we make it home okay. Wild vs. sweet. My ride or die.

“Becca, Walter, where have you guys BEEN?! I heard from Aric you bought seven street dogs last weekend, Bec, WTF” Helen exclaims, looking as if she is going to burst from laughter at any moment. 

I think back to last weekend and a vague memory of me purchasing street dogs, a homeless man on the side of the road, and Walter in an Uber passes through my mind. 

“Helen, I gave threeee to a homeless person, okay? I’m not some psycho.” I gave her a look as if asking: ‘Who? Me? Never would I ever eat seven street dogs.’ 

A mischievous grin tugs at the corners of my mouth when I finally say without looking at her, “The rest I ate in Walter’s bed.” 

She pauses a moment, stares at me, and then we both start laughing hysterically. I really had eaten four street dogs last weekend, the remainder of which (ketchup and mustard included) lay all over Walter’s sheets in the morning. It’s a miracle he still likes me.

I pull one of my arms from around Walter’s neck and wrap it around Helen’s. I look up at Walter with unwavering confidence and say, “This is my best friend, Walter, you know that? Aren’t we the cutest best friends you’ve ever seen?” 

He looks between the two of us, baring his white teeth as he breaks into a grin. 

“You two are trouble,” he jokes. 

“C’mon Walter, don’t give us sass,” Helen responds. “Yeah Walter, don’t give us sass!” I laugh cheerfully. Then, I pull each of them tight so each of their faces are right next to mine and turn them toward the city lights. Three shadowed silhouettes outline the floor behind us. The rooftop bar is louder now, as drinks flow and more of our friends and coworkers begin to show up. 

“Isn’t it just wonderful, you guys,” I say with a distant look in my eyes, completely enraptured by the beauty that lies before us. I had coined a phrase a long time ago for special moments like this – I always call them ‘pieces of heaven.’

“We’re free. Free to do anything – to be anyone. Isn’t that beautiful?”

My blue eyes meet Walter’s, and then switch to Helen’s on the other side. I don’t know if it’s the drinks, or the lights, or the fact we don’t have work tomorrow, but I throw my head back with a smile and yell with cocktail glass in-hand, “To never growing up!”

“Cheers to that, Bec!” Helen yells back, and her, Walter, and I clank glasses as we’re all still close together, wrapped in my arms. 

A few hours later and two more drinks deep, a nostalgic thought passes through my mind…a distant memory of a football boy in high school, my childhood best friend, dancing, glitter, long dark hair, brown eyes, country music, and none other than pepperoni-less pizzas. 

I had watched my parents go through a brutal divorce, moved on from Kyle after seven months of dating him, left all my high school friends behind, and only saw my family twice a year back in Ohio whilst I was chasing a career of becoming a big-time consultant in the city of dreams. Everything I had ever wanted was coming true – the good grad school, the high-paying job, the smart boyfriend, and the loyal best friend. But sometimes, here and there, I would remember (and even miss) being 15-years old, texting my childhood best friend, getting ready to go dance on the field, wishing my boyfriend good luck, seeing my sisters cheering in the stands with my mom and dad together, and waiting for my little brother to come home so I could ruin his pizzas. 

And now, thousands of miles away and 10 years later, everything was different. Not bad – just different. It’s bittersweet, this feeling. But somehow, I’m still grateful. 

A lot of people become adults and begin to spend too much time in the past or in the future. They chase money for years, stepping on people to get what they want. Or maybe, they just give up on everything they love. They stop having goals; “purpose” is now a word that’s only heard in eLearnings and required seminars for CPE credit. If only they knew the secret to living a fulfilling life. That childlike wonder – that curiosity – the present moment - is what keeps a spirit alive. Not having to conform to society’s standards of beauty and success and following one’s intuition is a choice. And thus far, I’ve been quite careful with my choices, and I’m proud of that.  

As I sit beside Walter on a couch next to the pool on the rooftop and lay my head on his shoulder as he talks to another coworker, I’m overcome with a feeling of gratefulness – the same feeling I had felt 10 years ago. I glance at Helen a few feet away. She’s talking to one of our friends, Katie, and waves once she catches my smile – her 20-or-so silver charm bracelets glinting in the darkness. 

I wave back and then look down at the pool, mesmerized as the pale blue turns into purples, then deep reds, and finally evergreen as the lights from the bar reflect off the water. 

“God…” I whisper, turning my sleepy gaze up to the stars.

“Let me stay like this forever…” I pray. 

“Cheers…to never growing up.” 

Raising a glass to my sunburnt lips, I sip the last of my drink.

Carefree, without a worry in the world. 25-years old, and still truly happy.