How have I grown?
We had to write an essay in lit for college... I used Georgia Tech's prompt, "Tell us about the neighborhood you grew up in and how it helped shape you into the kind of person you are today."
I’m standing alone, in my childhood home’s front yard, in the dark. It’s always dark, as if Memory Lane is constantly under a blanket of night. If I look up, the sky is clear enough to see hundreds of stars. The grass is wet. It’s hot. It must be summer. Short, simple thoughts like this are all I can think about. I’m calm. I’m happy.
Standing next to me is a familiar little girl in a blue dress and black and white oxford shoes. I smile at her as she flits past, running across the lawn to the driveway, where her bicycle waits under the protection of a weeping willow. Training wheels, a basket, a bell. As she climbs onto the pink seat and begins to pedal, the wind blows her platinum hair back and the young willow’s leaves rustle, the branches reaching out to her, trying to keep her close as she hurries down the driveway without fear. She’s reckless. She’s moving too quickly. Soon, her training wheels will be gone, too.
The little girl is evolving. She’s taller now; her hair’s longer. A few seconds go by and the transformation is complete. Her blue dress had been replaced by jean overalls. As she pedals up the hill toward the mouth of the neighborhood, I run behind, trying to keep up.
She turns into the driveway of a yellow house and a little boy emerges from the front door. He is the first child her age to have moved here, and as he runs towards her, she calls out his name happily. “Jeremy.” She dismounts from her bicycle and chases the little boy back into the street, back toward her house. As the two run, they grow more. They race. She’s ignoring everything around her, focusing on her goal. She’s running as fast as she can. She’s running too fast. She’s missing it.
The pair stops in front of a white house with an apple tree in the front yard. Two more children come out, each holding two glasses of lemonade. They’re tired of running at this point. They sit on the porch swing, all four of them together, and talk lightly. She’s laughing. She’s not running, but she still can’t see it. One of her friends stands up and runs to the yard. He catches a small glowing bug and brings it back to his friends proudly. They watch into his cupped hands curiously before the bug flies away. The four of them get up to chase it, and they change again.
The little girl isn’t little; her hair isn’t very blonde anymore, either. She says good night to Jeremy and the others, and they all go inside. She’s finally slowed down, but by now it’s too late. Her world was busy changing when she wasn’t paying attention. She thought she had plenty of time left, but now, everything looks different; she’s looking at it with new eyes.
It’s been a while since she’s been home, and her home has changed. Her family has been split, she has been uprooted. She didn’t notice. She was too busy enjoying herself. As she enters her yard once again, the wind blows the willow’s brittle branches toward her. It’s welcoming her home, after she’s been gone for so long. It had been waiting, but she didn’t notice. As she walks up to the willow, it’s too late; the plant withers away. Instead, she turns and walks to me. As she walks, she ages again.
When she finally reaches me, she looks completely changed. She’s much older. She’s wiser. She’s been humbled by the years. She doesn’t go too quickly anymore. She knows better. She stops every once in a while to smell the roses. She cherishes every moment. She doesn’t want the days to pass her by without her noticing again. She makes sure to treasure her family and friends, never taking them for granted. She’s learned her lesson; she knows every day is a gift.
She smiles at me and turns to go inside. She’s happy. She’s moving forward, but not too swiftly. She’s taking her time.
She whistles cheerfully as she opens her front door.
She’s home.
I’m standing alone, in my childhood home’s front yard, in the dark. It’s always dark, as if Memory Lane is constantly under a blanket of night. If I look up, the sky is clear enough to see hundreds of stars. The grass is wet. It’s hot. It must be summer. Short, simple thoughts like this are all I can think about. I’m calm. I’m happy.
Standing next to me is a familiar little girl in a blue dress and black and white oxford shoes. I smile at her as she flits past, running across the lawn to the driveway, where her bicycle waits under the protection of a weeping willow. Training wheels, a basket, a bell. As she climbs onto the pink seat and begins to pedal, the wind blows her platinum hair back and the young willow’s leaves rustle, the branches reaching out to her, trying to keep her close as she hurries down the driveway without fear. She’s reckless. She’s moving too quickly. Soon, her training wheels will be gone, too.
The little girl is evolving. She’s taller now; her hair’s longer. A few seconds go by and the transformation is complete. Her blue dress had been replaced by jean overalls. As she pedals up the hill toward the mouth of the neighborhood, I run behind, trying to keep up.
She turns into the driveway of a yellow house and a little boy emerges from the front door. He is the first child her age to have moved here, and as he runs towards her, she calls out his name happily. “Jeremy.” She dismounts from her bicycle and chases the little boy back into the street, back toward her house. As the two run, they grow more. They race. She’s ignoring everything around her, focusing on her goal. She’s running as fast as she can. She’s running too fast. She’s missing it.
The pair stops in front of a white house with an apple tree in the front yard. Two more children come out, each holding two glasses of lemonade. They’re tired of running at this point. They sit on the porch swing, all four of them together, and talk lightly. She’s laughing. She’s not running, but she still can’t see it. One of her friends stands up and runs to the yard. He catches a small glowing bug and brings it back to his friends proudly. They watch into his cupped hands curiously before the bug flies away. The four of them get up to chase it, and they change again.
The little girl isn’t little; her hair isn’t very blonde anymore, either. She says good night to Jeremy and the others, and they all go inside. She’s finally slowed down, but by now it’s too late. Her world was busy changing when she wasn’t paying attention. She thought she had plenty of time left, but now, everything looks different; she’s looking at it with new eyes.
It’s been a while since she’s been home, and her home has changed. Her family has been split, she has been uprooted. She didn’t notice. She was too busy enjoying herself. As she enters her yard once again, the wind blows the willow’s brittle branches toward her. It’s welcoming her home, after she’s been gone for so long. It had been waiting, but she didn’t notice. As she walks up to the willow, it’s too late; the plant withers away. Instead, she turns and walks to me. As she walks, she ages again.
When she finally reaches me, she looks completely changed. She’s much older. She’s wiser. She’s been humbled by the years. She doesn’t go too quickly anymore. She knows better. She stops every once in a while to smell the roses. She cherishes every moment. She doesn’t want the days to pass her by without her noticing again. She makes sure to treasure her family and friends, never taking them for granted. She’s learned her lesson; she knows every day is a gift.
She smiles at me and turns to go inside. She’s happy. She’s moving forward, but not too swiftly. She’s taking her time.
She whistles cheerfully as she opens her front door.
She’s home.