i met my younger self for coffee this morning.
we were both 15 minutes early.
i told her she needn’t do the typical lap around the block before heading in.
it was only me after all.
my hair was a freshly highlighted blonde and recently blown out.
she wore hers more golden strawberry in a too-layered haircut she wished were longer but was too generous to ask to change.
i was carrying my black leather purse.
she had a canvas tote on her shoulder.
her nails were raw and bitten down with anxiety.
mine were manicured long and pink.
she orders a chai tea latte.
i ordered a black iced coffee and teased about her impending caffeine addiction.
she laughed our giggly laugh.
i tell her i had almost forgotten what she looked like.
it was like looking at a photograph i had seen before come to life, or a funhouse mirror.
she smiled ear to ear saying how happy she was that we turned out beautiful and asked if boys liked me.
i held her hand and told her that she was too.
she quickly chirped back with self deprecation, hoping to feign authentic vulnerability with humor.
i looked at her through our matching green eyes.
hers darted around.
i wanted to crawl inside her chest and wrap her heart in the hug I knew it yearned for.
she explained her confusion towards her place in the world.
i told her that never quite goes away, though we build a home around that feeling.
“Is this the bit where I ask if we’re happy?”
i feel a pain in my ribs and take a breath to attempt easing it.
i want to console her and warn her and lie and say everything is just the way we dreamed it would be.
“happy, yes mostly. and other feelings too.”
she tells me how she wants everything to just work out already, that she wants to jump to where i am.
i explain that being okay is the only thing in life one can guarantee, that she get to chose that.
we don’t say anything after that, both silently wishing we had a friend like the other.
she opens her mouth but closes it quickly.
for writers, we never were great at getting words out vocally.
i tell her to scribble it all down, that one day i’ll sit in my big girl apartment and read the letters she wrote to someone she hasn’t met yet.
and that i’ll always write her back.
she walks away down a sidewalk that’s all too familiar with my footprints.
she lives somewhere deep inside me but still i’ll miss her like i do a best friend who’s moved away.
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