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 6th
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.
