So a few days ago, Annie got to talking about how I was years ago, barely a teenager but stomping through the city like it was mine for the taking. I don't doubt that anyone I encountered saw right through this guise to the scared, little girl I really was, but Annie says it didn't matter. "You were just so different," she said. I thought about it for a minute while she filed my fingernails to the perfect length and shape without needing my approval. She knew me so well, maybe even better than I thought. "I don't know if I was different or just weird."
She looked up at me with an exasperated look, lightly blowing her honey blonde bangs from her forehead, and smiled. I smiled back. "I guess I was always a little different, even at a very young age." Annie didn't look up but stopped filing for a moment, waiting for me to continue. "I remember my father being called into school for a parent-teacher meeting for something I'd said during class. The teacher had asked us what we wanted to be when we grew up, and was giving each child a turn to tell the rest of the class. Most of the girls talked about weddings and babies and dogs and houses and pretty things," I said, and looked at Annie as she had stopped moving and was staring at me anticipating my next sentence but also expecting it. "Me?," I continued, "Well I told her that I wanted to be a rockstar. That I wanted to have a baby daughter that would stand on stage and cling to my leg as I sang my hit songs. And I wanted to travel from city to city so everyone could hear my voice and see my baby. And that was it."
|My Dreams. Age 6. | Photo Credit|
And then, Annie and I laughed. We laughed so hard, she had to repaint my index fingers and wipe the tears from my eyes.