“Lil! Get up, get up! It’s time to wake up!”
I rolled over in bed, squinting my eyes, noticing the soft hues of pink pastel invading my room. It can’t be later than 5 am. “Jeez,” I say. “It’s too early.” I slowly fade back into a deep REM.
“Lil.”
My little brother hovers over me. Eyes as wide as the gap between his front teeth. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” “It’s the start of July, Lily.” He says it like it’s his birthday. It’s not. I mock him because that’s what older sisters do. He jumps off my bed and spins around in circles, looking like a drunken sailor. I’m awake at this point, but he’s too happy and weird looking for me to be mad.
“Okay, I’m up,” I say. “What do you want?"
He tugs at my arm.
“Put your shoes on, Lil. We’re going on a bug hunt.”
This kid is so wired, He has to have had at least 3 cups of OJ by now. There’s no way he’s running on nothing. I’m groggy. Feeling like a jaded poet after days of whiskey drinking and sonnet writing. But I’m 8. They all said I’m wise for my age… what they really meant was that I’m weary and fearful just like most adults.
I am handed a small pale, a dried worm, and a spoon. This is apparently “appropriate” bug gathering supply.
We walk to my childhood back yard. No shoes, of course, because there’s no better feeling than cold grass between toes. He nods at me to check the tree; it sounds sketch if you put it in adult context. I hesitate and then do what he wants, despite my 20 percent commitment level.
“Lil.”
He stops and drops to the ground. He pauses in astonishment; dramatic affect I suppose.
“This is the most beautiful caterpillar I have ever seen in my entire life.”
Okay so this kid is easily pleased, is what I’m thinking. And he also hasn’t been around long because this little pillar is like a brownish poop color with a Kim K looking thorax.
We both lean over, looking at it from a birds' eye view. He touches it gently. It crawls on him. He brings it close to his face and looks at it dead in the eye; I swear.
And I could have a foggy memory or something, but I’m like 95% sure that damn pillar looked him directly in the eye and smiled back. Don’t believe me please, I probably wouldn’t believe me either, but some exchange happened and it’s stuck with me enough to write about it 15 years later.
I’m 22 years old now and the last thing I’d do with my time is look at a damned caterpillar.
Things I like: My phone, wifi, vactions where there’s wifi, and guys with tattoos. Adults these days just work, eat, relax, indulge, and repeat. What happened to us? I swear we hit a certain age and then POOF we stopped truly noticing it all. How sad. I don’t remember how that happened. That magical feeling of discovery. We complain about such a mundane world, but we don’t look down or up. We’re hypocritical. Ha! A bunch of hypocrites with 401K’s and iPhones. We’re so used to achievement and chapters. Giant life intervals, in a way. What happened to those in betweens. The halves. Like converse shoes - they rarely have half sizes. I have a feeling education sets us up that way. We are so busy moving in one direction that we forget it’s not one giant freeway.
I’m 22 and I’m just like them all. I’m losing my magic just like all the big kids. We seem to grow up earlier don’t we? I remember wanting that so bad. I wanted to wear heels and lipstick and file papers and wear bras. How silly looking back on it. Now all I want is the patience my little brother had to stop and smile at those damn little dirty pillars.
I’m 22 and I’m jealous of children. The world hasn’t contorted their perspective like it did the rest of us. I’m just hoping that what they say is right… maybe in our late 90s we turn into kids again. Maybe my innocence will be given back to me the day I resort back to diapers and mushy foods. A girl can only hope….
