little sarah Big World

August 9th, 2012, nearing 2am

I hope I never forget this, this feeling. This moment when we are young, but we are finally women, living on our own, spending what seems to us a great deal of money as we please, and sometimes wisely. A time when we’ve grown into our bodies and our lives, we can walk home without bras and make bad decisions, when we cry so easily and drink too much and live on chips and dip.

And we get closer. We get closer.

I don’t ever want to forget walking home, nearly 2am, and knowing that I should have gone to bed earlier, knowing that I will be exhausted (again) in the morning. So tired I feel like I am already asleep, like I am swimming through the murky-warm waters of a late summer night, all grays and deep blues and the thick, silent air.

My feet sore; my heart happy.

Going Home

Saturday Morning, After the Sleepover

“Sarah, why is your kitchen in your bedroom?”

“Why do you drink out of jars?”

“Why don’t you have a car?”

My 20-something life is all but unfathomable to my little sister. And she’s not the only one. Even I have to question my methods from time to time. Like at the wedding last weekend, with the other bridesmaids in graduate school, or working professionally, making big career strides and living in big cities.

I realized, apart from graduating college, I have almost no claim to adulthood–I don’t own a home, or a car. I’m not married, I don’t have children. I have nothing but the vaguest notions about grad school. I don’t have a full-time job, or health insurance.

I am a bike-riding, studio-living, self-indulgent young woman. And most days I am okay with that. But sometimes I see myself through another’s eyes, and I have to wonder…

…then Rosie tells me that her favorite thing is sleeping over and walking to the coffee shop on the corner in the morning. I like to think that she’ll always remember that, the way I still remember a sleepover with Aunt Angie when I was little–like I was being allowed a peek into adult life.

I mean, somebody has to be the “single” Auntie or sister, the one with time and space for sleepovers. The one who will take you for hot chocolate and bagels. The one who is, like Sandra Cisneros, “nobody’s mother and nobody’s wife.”

*       *       *

I am okay with being that person. Most of the time.