On Living

"And in the end, it's not the years in your life that count. It's the life in your years."

-Abraham Lincoln

            I really didn’t want to be on that train at all, what I wanted was to be in bed, sleeping. Unfortunately, I had to go pick my brother up and take him to tutoring. I was tired and stressed, so I simply sat, grateful for the one stop left until I got off. It was then that she walked in. Her clothes, makeup, accessories, everything, was modern and looked like something out of Vogue. I was a bit troubled by her ensemble; I felt it took away from the essence that was her ten year old self.

            Before my encounter with this girl, I’d left work and answered a call from my mother, asking me to take my brother to tutoring. I wasn’t too thrilled about it, but I couldn’t tell my mom, “Too bad, I guess you’ll just have to do it yourself.” I decided that after I dropped my brother off, I could go grocery shopping and come back in time to pick him up. I was exhausted simply at the thought of having to do all of this, not to mention everything else I had to finish before my day ended. This really wasn’t what I had imagined the summer after high school would be like. I’d thought that I would earn some money which I could spend with friends and some I could save for college. Yet, it seemed that the lack of time and insufficient amount of funds impeded my relaxation. The only time I got to myself was on the bus or the train, and each ride was different from the next.

Yet today, this… girl who was certainly no older than twelve shook me in a way I hadn’t thought it could. The lip gloss on her face seemed out of place, and her skirt was better suited in a club. Her older sister was dressed in much the same fashion, with the added touch of rapid texting. Not to worry though, the younger girl was not without her gadget either, an I-pod blasted music into her ears and throughout the car. Her mannerisms caused me to flinch; they were the sort of things found on someone older than her.

It jolted memories of wearing my mother’s high heels and looking through her make-up. I remembered playing with Barbie and having her act out going to work or out on a date. I recalled asking my mother for a drink of her coffee, tentatively reaching for a cigarette from my friend and practicing my driving before I really should. I always thought I’d be an amazing adult, doing so many things with my new found liberties. I was constantly anxious at what it meant to turn a year older, what it meant to be old enough to do what I had not done before. I looked forward to reading, driving a bike, cooking, going to high school… the list was endless. Being older had an allure that being five did not, and so I constantly tried doing “grown-up” things.

The train finally reached the end of the line, and everyone scattered about the terminal. I hop on the 290, the bus which will leave me a few blocks from my brother’s school, and my mind is still on the girl. She causes me to fear for the life my younger brother might lead. I wonder if his fourteen years will finally catch up to him and if he will start to experiment with the things that the future holds. Will his friends offer him a swig of beer, or will their peer pressure be enough for him to seriously entertain the notion of sex? He is still my little boy, he’s the kid that watches Saturday morning cartoons and enjoys playing video games. He’s the sweet child that doesn’t carry the sin of pride the way I do, but at the same time, he’s a teenager growing up in this Americana.

My mother, on the other hand, grew up in a small town in rural México. The beliefs she was raised on were conservative and based in the 1970s. These beliefs came to clash with those commonly held by liberals living in the 21^st century. For some reason, I thought that her constant warning of living in the now was silly, just another reason for her to nag. The advice of doing what I could do now, and waiting patiently for the future, looked like an obstacle to my personal growth.

As I waited for the school bell to ring, and the kids to let out, I regretted not doing many things. I wish I had squished mud between my toes, jumped in puddles, drawn on the walls with markers and crayons, and listened to my mother.  It was unfortunately much too late to do this; how so very painful to desire for childhood memories I chose not to make. Shouldn’t I at least be happy with my life now?  I had a job, bills to pay and a boyfriend; wasn’t all this responsibility exactly what I had wanted? My fast approaching adult life wasn’t as appealing as I used to think.

            I hug my brother hello, and carry his backpack for him. As we walk side by side I notice a puddle a few feet away. I grab his hand, run towards it, and jump in.