Gotta Grow

Lucie and I are growing old. In the mornings, we discussed what we hated about our lives, and in the evenings, we drew large black Xs in the empty boxes on our Gotta Do list. 

We liked to do our discussing on The Common Green. There was usually a buttload of people hurrying about, late for their activities for the day, or late-middle-aged individuals strolling with a small dog following closely behind, and that day was no different. 

On that particular day, Lucie and I were lying on The Common Green. A lot of the time, we sat on the benches surrounding the area and people-watched, but today, we chose to look at the sky. 

“I wish I liked running,” I began. “I wish I could be one of those people who could just run for five gazillion miles without thinking and get a runner’s high or whatever.” The sun was uber bright, and very few clouds were visible. I closed my eyes and waited for Lucie’s response. 

“Have you tried music again?” she asked. I complained about running quite often.

“Yeah, but the song never matches my pace. The beat always seems a lot slower or faster than my stride, so instead of running, I’m just waiting for the song to catch up.” 

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” I pretended I could feel each singular ray of sunlight seeping through the ozone and touching my skin. I thought about skin cancer and pressed my hands to my face. I could feel the thick layer of waterproof sunscreen that coated my cheeks. 

“My mom tells me just to give up running if I don’t enjoy it anymore. She says it’s bad for my joints anyway, and I’ve given up trying to explain it to her.”

Lucie cleared her throat, “Do you think humans can ever truly understand one another?” 

I opened my eyes. “What?” The sun was still too bright. 

“Do you think humans will ever reach a complete understanding of one another? Like, will we ever be able to get what the other person means or is saying completely?” 

I rolled my head over on the grass to face her. Lucie was already sitting upright, staring straight into the sunlight–she’d also moved without me noticing. 

“No,” I paused. “Yeah? I don’t know. Why’d you ask?”

“Do you think we’ll ever experience youth like that again?” I was a bit irked that Lucie ignored me, but I followed her gaze to a boy and a girl who appeared to be playing tag. They looked around four or five years old, and the boy was wearing a Spiderman shirt while the girl wore a kidde floral sundress. From what I could tell, the girl was faster than the boy–she was a head taller and put a greater amount of distance between them when he chased her. Yet after a minute or so of running, she’d shorten her stride, the gap would close, and she’d fall closer to her friend, seemingly understanding the game would never end until he caught her. 

“Yes,” I answered. “Why not? Just because we’re older doesn’t mean we have to give up our childhood wonder.”

“That’s true,” Lucie replied. 

—

I’m staring. 

“Can I add two shots of espresso to that?” I ask the cashier. She has at least six piercings on each ear and these bright pink hoops that are so heavy I can see the first holes stretching.

“For sure! Would you like any syrups or pastries today?” In high school, my mother didn’t let me get more than one pair of piercings. It’s tacky, she said, absentmindedly twirling the diamond studs my father gifted her when they married. 

“No, nothing else. Thank you.” Three months before I turned sixteen, when my parents were out of the house, I had Lucie punch sewing needles through my ears. I bled so much that we finished the roll of paper towels, and I stained the carpet. I planned on telling my parents that I got my period, but that wasn’t needed. They never asked. 

“Great, your total is $7.68. Insert card here.” Her hoops match the color of her lipstick. It’s also the color of her cheeks. She has been smiling this whole time. 

I shove my card in the terminal and glance at her name tag, which reads Lucy. I say, “I love your piercings, especially the pink hoops.”

Her smile twitches, then it’s back, bigger and toothier than ever. “Thank you! I was just admiring your set. I’ve always wanted a cartilage piercing.” She taps the bare tops of her ears and flings the iPad cash register around. 

“Thanks–I’m thinking of getting another set this week.” I tip 25% because that’s the only option on the screen. 

Today is a big day: I turn twenty today. 

Last night, when I was experiencing my annual birthday eve meltdown, I made a list of all the things I felt like I was forgetting at nineteen. 

Dad’s Saturday pancake recipe

password to Spotify acc.

Mrs. MacDonald? Ms. McNees? Mrs. Mc?--8th grade English teacher

how it felt to be eighteen

Lucy Lucie 

I paused writing that last one. Sometimes, I like to think about old friends and jot down whatever memories I have of them in my journal. When I spotted a bright red rain jacket amidst the crowd of grays and blues, I thought of Sylvia and her matching rain boots. When I heard a man bellow, “Go suck it!!!” down at the subway, I was brought back to Zachary’s road rage–him whipping into the parking lot at 7:14 each morning. But that evening, through the snotty tears and the emptiness of an all-but-one vacant dorm on a Friday night, where there was just the hum of the heater and the stench of leftover Chinese takeout forgotten to be thrown away, I thought of Lucie. 

So, here I was, my two shots of espresso and warm milk burning in my hands, the bite of winter, bitter and bleak all about. The Common Green was generally the same as I’d remembered it: children picking their noses and dog shit everywhere. Only newly constructed fences surround the grassy areas, and the benches Lucie and I once occupied are separated into tiny seating areas with two or three boundaries placed on those five-foot pieces of wood to prevent the homeless from sleeping on them.

I decide I’ll walk around The Common Green. There are many walkers and talkers, and I’m just another young adult, sleep-deprived and possibly homesick, although I’d like to believe I appear more mature than the typical college student. I’ve tied my hair back into a slick bun and dressed in a simple white blouse and jeans. The only obvious marker of my age is my piercings. I’ve got my left ear decked out in gold, eight hoops and studs punched from my lobe to my helix. But my right ear only has the one lobe piercing I got with my mother in the fifth grade at the mall. The second right piercing by Lucie ended up getting infected, and I decided to keep the rest of the side bare. 

I don’t think Lucie would have called me her best friend in high school–I wouldn’t have called her mine. 

Lucie was more reserved, though I wouldn’t say she was shy or introverted. She was just picky about the people she let into her life. Coincidence forced Lucie to choose me. Throughout high school, we were always shoved together, matched for assignments, and even mistaken for each other’s names. We ran cross country in the fall and took studio art classes in the spring, and over time, we acclimated to, anticipated each others’ company. 

At some point, I realized I was subconsciously searching for Lucie in the crowd, but she was all the way on the other side of the country studying film or art history or something very dramatic like that. I chose to stay in our hometown and major in applied mathematics, as my parents encouraged me to do. 

I’m seated next to the fence surrounding the grassy hill in the center of The Common Green, and I’ve placed my drink beside me. I pull my knees into my chest and wrap my hands around my legs. I guess it is pretty cold today, I think to myself. I could’ve brought a coat. 

There’s an elderly couple performing Tai Chi at the park adjacent to the hill. They move slowly and meticulously, and I find myself mimicking their expressions: relaxed eyes and gently closed mouths. They look almost meditative, and it’s an expression I recall my father wearing often. 

The summer before I left for college, I asked my father if he was content with his life. 

He was washing the dishes, while I laid on the couch, twiddling my fingers, feeling suffocated by the summer heat and bored of my high school friends.

He didn’t look up as he replied, “Oh, yeah.” 

“Really?” I asked, observing his face. I was relentless against my father, blunt and a skeptic. He was unwaveringly a saint. 

His face didn’t change when he finally explained and presented me with a whole monologue. I listened until I realized he was talking about stocks, then the college admissions system, then his own childhood. I listened until I realized we had the same conversation last week, and then my mind drifted, and I thought about how I was killing my father. 

There’s now a child imitating the elderly couple. He’s standing at the top of the slide, moving his arms above his head and humming a little tune. His mom yells at him to quit the silly business and go down the slide–other kids are waiting. 

—

Lucie bought flowers for _____ today. She remembered it was _____’s twentieth birthday, so she made the seven-hour trek from her college, waited in line at the florist, and reassured the very friendly employee who assembled the bouquet and topped it with a bright pink bow that no, these were not for a boyfriend, and no, she did not have one either. 

It was a beautiful day. The pigeons were singing, and though bare, the trees stood tall and kept their rich brown color. Lucie had missed the East Coast seasons. The thick air reminded her of trail runs with her high school cross-country team in the off-season, freezing their limbs off and ducking into the nearest coffee shops to warm up. The weather also made her think of _____ and _____’s impenetrable resistance to the cold–or most things in life for that matter–and so before stopping at _____’s house to give birthday flowers, she took a pit stop at The Common Green. 

The area was just as she remembered it: full of people and animals. Some things never changed. 

Lucie decided to loiter under the shade of a sycamore near the entrance. She noted a mother scolding her child from the bottom of the slide and covered her ears as the kid screamed, careening down the yellow tube. He swatted his mother’s hands away as she tried to help him off the slide and scrambled up the stairs to slide back down again.

People often told Lucie she would make a wonderful mother, but she never seriously considered seeking a partner or having children herself. The whole subject of falling in love only to leave the honeymoon stage and bear children, watching those children grow to despise you yet still having to pay for their presents and drive them all over the place, and discovering that each new year is but another door slammed in her face, made her upset. Lucie would rather not think about any of it and have fate lead her to whatever was supposed to happen. So, in this present moment, instead of worrying about such things yet again, Lucie closed her eyes, counted to ten, and readjusted her gaze to whatever she spotted first. 

It was someone hunched over near the fence now blocking the hill of The Common Green. She saw the back of their head, still and steady, presumably resting on their kneecaps. Their arms were looped around their legs, and no one seemed to glance at the person sitting on the side of the walkway even though they were only sporting jeans and a thin T-shirt–cotton perhaps. 

Lucie smiled and decided that if this person could endure, possibly even enjoy a day in the park despite being ridiculously unprepared, she could too. And so, Lucie continued about her day, taking the familiar road toward _____’s house. However, she ended up forgetting the flowers at The Common Green and had to run back to retrieve them. Of course, by the time she reached the park, all that was left was a note dangling from a branch under the sycamore tree, held by the ribbon that initially tied the bouquet together. 

Thanks. Really needed these today. —A Stranger