Her hands have a slight tremor. “Stop that; I am in control,” she whispers to them. They have words written in pen–smudging on the ends–all over them. People tell her the ink will poison her, and she just laughs.
Her eyes are held open by mascara and cups of coffee. No cream, no sugar, she likes the bitterness.
She hums something under her breath. A song from some distant memory. That Ben Rector song that made her smile and cry at the same time.
She’s been heartbroken, but the broken heart is fixed with a little tape and glitter glue.
Her taste is eclectic; never fit into a box. Her room is littered with pictures of old memories; movie tickets, polaroids, letters, journals, and glass figurines. Her stuffed animals lined up on a shelf, and she kisses their cheeks when their eyes droop.
Maybe, she never grew up. She got taller, wears makeup, smiles when she’s told, strives for better grades, fell for boys, and felt her friends maturing day by day.
But–she would still hug the tree in the front yard, or dance along to her favorite songs when everyone else told her to stop.
She watched the city the other day. She drove her mother around, and she realized how alone she felt now.
So many people were gone; some by choice, and some because life is full of chapters. It seemed the town’s population of kindred spirits dwindled daily.
And, tears blurred her vision as she sped along the highway.
Growing up wasn’t what she always expected it would be…maybe she never would be everything they wanted. Maybe, she would always push boundaries, and always get cut from pushing the envelope too much.
That was alright. And, maybe people would keep leaving, because of college, jobs, and responsibility. And, maybe new people would appear and they’d make unforgettable memories together as well.
So, she still hummed the Ben Rector song, and tapped her trembling fingers to the piano playing in her mind, and tried to think of a time where innocence and happiness were second nature.