I pass by and that's me, shopping for big kids clothes, with a cart and arms like that squishy rolly water snake thing you could get at Walgreens when I was a kid, for a dollar. I buy shorts for the boys that are 'smart' and 'on sale' and batteries and a birthday card and toothpaste and my favorite basil dish soap. And I'm actually kind of excited about my purchases.
I read books in search of a smidgeon of me. In characters so I can tuck it away and not have to write it myself. "There I am, that's me," I'll say, relieved, somewhere in my head.
Like Evelyn in Fried Green Tomatoes I'm too young to be old and too old to be young. Yet I've always felt this way, since I cried when I turned twelve because I didn't want to someday be thirteen. When I was still a teenager and moved to the city. And when I was still a teenager and moved back home. When I got married, when I had babies, and all that time since then and in between. When I always knew more than I thought I should and more than I let on and I want to recognize myself when I look in the mirror. I don't want to see where I've been or what I've been through or who I think I should be. I want to find me.