Last Saturday, I went to Cecelia’s to spend the night. And this was nice on three counts.
1) I escaped a house full of shrieking girls. (Pippa took the train home last Saturday for the weekend. And since she was going to be belatedly celebrating her birthday, she took two friends home with her, as well. Then, bright and early on Saturday, the house was invaded by even more screaming girls until Sunday morning. The chorus of “Oh my God! Wait, what? Yeah, and then I was like…” is still ringing in my ears.)
2) My friends and I are always too busy to spend much time together. Or so it feels.
3) Cecelia and I had some serious business to attend to.
Cecelia and I gathered up all of our old diaries and spent about two hours going through them. Most of them were filled with entries like this:
“Today, I went to rehearsal. I hung out with Sadie and Audrey there. We had fun. I had beets for dinner. Gross! Today I wore my Snoopy shirt. I looked really cool.”
Then, I found a journal from eighth grade, which was full of short stories and very odd missives. And while most of it was melodramatic, plain awful, or trite, there were a few great sentences and good entries. Here’s an excerpt, so you can see exactly what I mean:
I watch the stars grow stronger and the bonfire grow brighter. I can see the golden embers sparks swim like goldfish in the navy blue sky. For a moment, I am free. For a moment, I run through sun-filled, tree-lined meadows and dance in the pearly-white misty hollows. For a moment, I am only Ella, solely and wholly me, until I let myself drift back to Earth and listen to you sing those songs of lost love and smile.
We laughed at our old selves until close to one. And I thought to myself, once Cecelia had fallen asleep, Gosh, I am so glad that I am not 13 anymore.