Epiphanies and Otherwise

You know when you have an epiphany, and you’re simultaneously annoyed that you remember, and can’t believe you forgot about it in the first place? And then you end up both trying to remember more about it, and also attempting to shove it back down where it came from. Much to my chagrin, those memories, faded with age, and grimy from being left in the garage of my brain, have been getting jogged back out to the surface lately.

I was a rather cute child until about age 7, when an unfortunate lack of alignment to my teeth, failing eyesight, perpetually crooked glasses, and my mother’s love of perms landed me square in awkward-ville. And while I liked flouncing around in the poufy little dresses my mother carefully sewed for me, my love of tree climbing resulted in my habitually walking around with mud and leaves stuck to me. I realize everyone claims childhood awkwardness… but I ask you dear reader, to please reference the picture, which thanks to lighting, is one of the better ones.

My childhood was a happy one, filled with lots of daydreaming and adventures, an only child who was quite resourceful when it came to entertaining myself. I had two best friends, my beautiful blonde neighbor Julia, and the endlessly entertaining dark haired Britt. However, school life was a constant battle in which I was forever playing defense. Children are quite perceptive, and tend to use this skill to be horrendously mean to each other. Thus my hair, my teeth, my glasses, my clothes, my habitually late parents, and my love of books were all under attack daily.

When my father began teaching at my school, a man infinitely cooler than myself, I managed to earn a little street cred. But by the 6^th grade, more and more of my recesses were spent alone, splashing around in the little creek at the back of the schoolyard. The creek couldn’t talk back, or call me names; it would just gurgle quietly along and grow pretty dandelions that I could make into necklaces. My friends found infinitely more cool things to do and I faded into the background.

Growing up around adults I tended to be more mature than my age, and teen angst hit me around 11. I begged my parents to let me go to another school. I was sick of being at the bottom of the food chain. No one understood me here. Finally they agreed, enrolled me at Manhattan Christian, since that was where it was determined I would receive the best high school education, and even said I could start going by my middle name.

I took the fresh start eagerly. Got rid of the perm, discovered hair dye, convinced my parents I needed contacts, and switched to a shortened version of my middle name, Nicki. (Sadly it never quite stuck thanks to a stubborn Calvinistic teacher, but I gave it a valiant effort). I shut the door on my old school and friends, vowing to never give the place a second thought. And I didn’t… until recently.  

Now for an update. Since we last met, many things have changed in the life of this Vicky’s girl. Namely, I went out on a limb, and was rewarded with a beautiful change in careers. I gave the world of retail the boot, and jumped headfirst into finance. (I will fill you in more another time… but I promise the segway has a point). Namely, that the world has come full circle, and now, 20 years later, I work with Britt’s mother.

I always admired Britt’s mom. As a kid I knew she worked on a street called Wall, she was some sort of awesome, powerful, well-dressed woman that made her own living- but more importantly, she let us make sheet forts throughout the entire house, took us on trips to the family cabin, had the best sleepovers, and always had most excellent snacks.

I never dreamed I would one day wind up working with this woman. And the experience has been amazing… a small part of me wants to go bounding into her office and beg her to let me and Britt take out the BB gun- until I remember I’m supposed to be a fully functional business-minded adult and Britt is living miles away. She’s been introducing me to her clients as they come in, which has caused several of those dusty memories to resurface. Much sneezing has been involved.

Which brings me to my epiphany.

“Oh Hello Dustin! How have you been? Have you met Ashley? She attended Heritage with Britt.” Betty gestures towards me, while I’m digging through a file cabinet that I could probably crawl into and take a nap, it’s so massive.

I had talked to Dustin briefly when he walked in, but actually focusing on him I saw a tall, lean, younger looking man with an apparent amount of energy- like he was going to dart out of the office and jump on his dirt bike. Dustin refocused on me and I smile up from the mound of paperwork in my hands.

“Really? Heritage huh? When did you attend?”

When people ask me that about high school or college I’m prepared with a range of dates. But elementary school? I shrug my shoulders and grimace, trying to rally some quick age math before he wonders what I’m doing in finance.

Betty laughs, “Yeah it was a long time ago… but I think Dustin’s daughter and you are around the same age? Let’s see- 27?”

Dustin nods in agreement. I continue to look completely blank and slightly baffled this man has a grown up daughter. But what am I saying? This is a common fiasco with my parents too.

“Sasha?” he says, “Sasha Morris?”

Sasha. Sasha. I roll the name around in my brain. Morris. Morris… it just sounds so familiar, it’s in the garage somewhere, I just know it. I squint a little with the effort of recall. Suddenly it hits me like a bad burrito. Manolo Blahniks. Dad’s dime. Kissing cheeks. Skinny tall girl with long hair. Put together. 

Oh of course. That Sasha. The Sasha that I was quite jealous of in elementary school for being popular, well-dressed, and being the only person I ever heard of winning McDonald’s Monopoly.  And here I am twenty years later bitching about her in my blog. Good lord. This world gets any smaller and it’s going to collapse in on me.

Thankfully Dustin was whisked away before he inquired if I still knew Sasha, but I sat at my desk with a bewildered look for the rest of the afternoon, wondering how on earth I could forget such a thing. Then again, I seriously doubt she would have remembered it either. And here we think we’ll never see the people we grew up with again.

The world appears to have come full circle. But this time? I don’t feel like a fresh start. I feel like all my decisions, stupid, misguided, brilliant and otherwise have led me here. And here is a place I quite enjoy.