What’s My Age Again?

“I took her out. It was a Friday night. I walk alone to get the feeling right…”

Blink-182 blared from the TV as Carson Daly flashed his pearly whites on Total Request Live. My shoulder slung forward from the heavy weight of my one-strapped book bag. The one strap was all the rage those days.

It was my lucky day. My recently licensed 16 year-old friend graciously (I think I pretty much begged him?) gave me a ride home from school, which cut my commute into 1/4 of its normal hour-long walking time. Trust me; I quietly cursed my parents’ purchase of a home on the northwest corner of town during each post-school walk.

I pushed the button to boot up our 95 windows PC and dial-up into the internet (does that even make sense?) as I ran downstairs for my after school snack. Coca Cola on ice and a granola bar graced my presence as “You’ve got mail!” welcomed me home. It was an exciting time in my life. My friends and I just broke into the senior boys’ circle of parties and things we shouldn’t have and older problems and drama. Plus, the homecoming dance was coming up so there was a lot of AOL instant messenger gossip to catch up on that afternoon.

“Nobody likes you when you’re 23…” Blink was still singing.

Ugh; “23 is so old,” I thought to myself.

**

Spotify country music softly sang into my headphones while I typed on my Windows 7 work laptop. I unbuttoned my tightly clasped suit jacket. I needed some breathing room to crunch the project rates. Thank god, I hit the sack at 21:00 last night and boosted up on two cups of joe that morning otherwise I would be dragging.

The proposal was due in 4 short hours I frantically reminded myself as my phone buzzed next to me. “Insert my sister’s name just posted on your wall” shortly followed by a tweet to @crossroadsheart. Was it not enough to use only one form of social media at a time? A couple of weeks ago, I felt embarrassed to google YOLO and don’t even remind me of my confusion when people posted “I love fun!” Well, yes, I love fun too… but I didn’t realize we were talking about a band.

I’m reminded of a quote from my childhood past. “They say I’m old-fashioned, and live in the past, but sometimes I think progress progresses too fast!” Dr. Suess, I think you had it right; my friend.

What’s my age again?

**

I’m 20 years old in the only real red sports car my dad ever owned. It’s just months before my brother would wreck it for its second time. Yes, I’ll take the blame as the first perpetrator.

I passed the West End of my hometown where literally there is a bar and church on every corner. Girls – just mere months older than me – lined up at bars’ front doors in their new high heels and cross-shouldered bags. A legit ID carefully tucked into wallet pockets. They seemed so cool.

I remembered just days ago my mother saying “you should celebrate every year of your life.” But that didn’t really comfort a non-bar-tending, too-old for Friday night opening flick, too young for 10pm bedtime, don’t know what to do with my 20-year-old self.

To say the least… her advice didn’t really stick.

**

Until now.

What’s my age again?

*Linking up with Write at the Merge.