She was a small girl, with choppy brown hair that never fit properly into a ponytail.
Her eyes were blue, her face was pale, her mind was cluttered.
Animal crackers, Avada Kadavra, Amanda Please...
And every morning, they would tickle her awake, singing songs she didn't know with lyrics she didn't understand, by bands she'd never heard of.
That didn't matter. Love spun from every note. Even though she hadn't the slightest idea that those inclinations and rapid falls were “notes” at all.
Butterflies, Bookworms, lost Bags of Boxtops...
On the twelfth day of first grade, she hung upside down on the monkey bars, staring into the laughing eyes of her best friend; a girl she didn't even know the name of yet. But they shared a language, invincibly young on a playground that shrank with every year.
Cats Cradle, Corduroy Overalls, CD Players with headphones...
She would run very fast, the little girl with brown hair, and her golden locked friend. They rode bicycles down hills as tall as the Eiffel tower, whatever that was, and had to clench their fists very tightly over the handlebars as the wind tore their eyelids open. It is so hard to slow down, when you've caught yourself accelerating. Impossible to stay calm, when the fear of sharp turns shakes your muscles.
Daydreams, Diary entries, Is the Devil real, mommy.....
Daddy always used Ticonderoga No.2 pencils. They were the best, of course. The astronauts used them on the moon, he told her. One small step for man.
They played a game together called Rock Detectives. She carried a little denim knapsack, and he always wore a tattered green ball cap. She wanted to be just like him.
They would bend down in the gravel driveway, and bury their fingers in layers of the past, the present, and the future. She would find a stone much prettier, much shinier than the others, and she would win the game. And that would be that. And he would not argue. Just kiss her forehead. “I love you, Little Bear.”
Easter eggs, the English language, Emory boards that chip my nail polish...
Grandpa came to dinner every Sunday, and her mother would be clumsy, and she would try very hard to please him, but she never could, because she didn't cook as good as well Grandma, and Grandpa missed her very much. So the little girl would kiss him goodbye, and paint her last picture, and ride her bicycle very fast down the hill again, scared of speed. Whispering secrets that never really mattered to her golden haired best friend. Just for the joy of telling a secret. For the laugh and the idea of thinking that maybe there was something special she knew that no one else did. Something important.
But it was never important. She could not have known.
Follies, Fairy tales, Feverishly reading big books with Fervent words....
She wanted to be like the princesses in the movies, who would gracefully perch on elegant balconies, staring at stars so vast they could not count. She wanted to whisper her secrets to the night, to the moon, to her daddy, to anyone who would listen. Because they weren't secrets, at all. Just words that made her feel bigger than all of those stars not even the princesses could make sense of. But as she whispered to the clouds, her voice would catch. And she tried to look graceful, her feet would stumble. And as she tried to tell her daddy how much she loved him and how much of her hero he was, his ear would always be too far up for her to reach. So she tried counting stars.
But everyone knows that that's impossible.
Guitar strings, Guessing all the wrong answers, Going too fast down the hill...
She had no secrets to keep or to share. She had no lies to tell, and no truth to run from. She had open books and windows that were always polished, and everyone thought they knew what the view was, when gazing briefly through them. They thought she was just another awkwardly pretty face, with funny jokes and big books and mismatched socks.
Maybe they were right.
She wished they weren't.
She craved diversity.
She longed for a nightmare to haunt the dreams she took for granted.
She could not have known.
Hair bows, Is Heaven close to Home, daddy?, Harry Potter will take me to Hogwarts someday...
Everyday, the sun stood still for her. Wake up and live and eat and play and dance and conquer fifty more pages, go to sleep and dream of all the possibilities, all the stories, all the maybes. Gasp at the vividly preposterous anecdotes her dirty blonde best friend would sneeze out at her, but have nothing to share in return. Nothing ever happens to her. Everything is right, and everything is calm, and her head is cluttered with lives that do not belong to her and words that she never said or wrote.
“Matti has a new boyfriend.”
“We're all mad here.”
“I hear that Olivia still has a bedtime.”
“Kill all the bluejays you want, if you can hit 'em.”
“Did you hear what happened to Rachel?”
“And miles to go, before I sleep...”
“Will you help me with my math homework?”
“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”
“The new boy has cute hair.”
“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good...”
“Best friends for ever.”
“Promises are made to be broken.”
...Cloaks of Invisibility, Imagination, living by the rules of Inkheart...
And so she smiled through each day, because nothing was wrong. She wore clothes with bright colors, just like everyone else, and she straightened her hair to a crisp, like she was supposed to. Her daddy told her every day that she was beautiful. And as she grew taller and taller, that little denim knapsack did not fit around her shoulders anymore. They paved her gravel driveway. The math got harder. The bikes got sturdier. The books got thicker. The speed did not scare her. The secrets still thrilled her.
Late nights, with long braids and plaid pajama pants. No secrets to share, just laughs and memories and dreams, staying up all night with that golden haired best friend. Whispering into the dark about God knows what, never anything important, never unimportant, just the talk of growing girls stealing air and clutching hopefulness.
“I'm so scared to go to high school.”
“And I, I took the road less traveled by...”
“At least we'll have each other.”
“Dulce es decorum est.”
“I love you, daddy.”
“Curiouser and Curiouser!”
“I love you, Little Bear.”
Jello with not enough sugar, Jet planes, Jargon we thought we understood...
So she got a new backpack, a green one that fit the all the big books her head was cluttered with, and all the heavy ones she only carried because they made her.
It fit gym clothes and cell phones and crumpled essays and lip gloss.
It did not fit bicycles with streamers.
It did not fit pretty rocks that she found in her gravel driveway, now paved over.
But it did fit Ticonderoga No.2 Pencils.
The best in the universe.
One small step for man.
Her head was cluttered with locker combinations and English literature and algebraic equations and, tell me, how is a raven like a writing desk, where was the first battle of the Civil War, if two trains leave Chicago at ten A.M and another from Boston at six, lyrics to Paramore songs, Quoth the Raven “evermore”, that boy is stoned, that one's hungover, it's only high school, stop moving so fast, we're still so young, don't you remember rock detectives?
Killers in thriller novels, Am I the only one never Kissed? Is it Karma? Did Keats write poems?
She forgot to tell her father that she loved him.
She forget to tell him that she would be nowhere without him.
She forgot to say “Please. Don't leave me, daddy.”
She forgot to say “Please. I don't know what I'd do without you.”
She forgot to say “Please. Can't you see I need you?
She forgot to say “Please. Don't you remember rock detectives?”
Long division won't give me an answer, Was this a Last Resort? Losing him, losing me, losing everything...
He did not say “It's a rumor.”
He did not say “I would never do that to you.”
He did not say “I'm making a mistake.”
He did not say “You're all that matters to me.”
He did not say “Things won't change for us.”
He did not say “I'm coming home.”
He said, “I love you, little bear.”
He said, “But this will ruin your life.”
He said...
he said...
he said...
Mistakes, Monopolies, Memories I can't reach, My world is turning upside down...
Oh my God, he said it, he said it, and now it's over, it's over, and I must be the only one who still remembers Rock detectives I must be the only one who remembers his mustache that tickled when he kissed my forehead I must be the only one who remembers how he was my hero and all the stars in the sky and that little knapsack and bedtime stories and wishes and dreams and homemade macaroni and it's over now....it's over.
Nothing left to say now, Nowhere left to go now, Never the same again...
“I have a secret to tell you.”
“Two can keep a secret, if one of them is dead.”
“But you have to promise to tell no one.”
“Promises are made to be broken.”
“I will always be here for you.”
“All that we see or seem, is but a dream within a dream.”
“He lied to me.”
“A dream is a wish your heart makes.”
“I'm so sorry. I don't know what to say.”
“Nothing is ever impossible, Charlie.”
“Please just tell me everything will be okay.”
Open books no longer, smiling on the Outside, it's Only an Ostentatious Oracle...
So the little girl finally had a secret to tell. She finally had a book to close, a window to fog, a page in her life to turn. She had a number to reach for when counting the stars, a destination to aim for when ambling blindly through daydreams, a secret, a secret, oh God, remember how I wished I had a secret, remember when everyone knew everything there was to know, remember the stupid jokes and games? Remember hanging upside down on the monkey bars? Riding too fast down steep hills? Remember when all that mattered was tomorrows outfit?
Popsicles finally melting, Parents that don't want to be together, Parties you don't want to go to...
And she finally, finally, had a story to tell at sleepovers. She finally, finally, had a glimmer in her eye that people didn't understand. Se finally, finally, had more to her than just fairy tales and makeup and high top tennis shoes. She finally, finally, finally, finally was different. Finally not the same boring girl with blessings taken for granted. Finally, finally, the daughter of a man who lied to himself. Finally, Finally, finally, broken enough to write it all down, with finally, some sort of meaning. Finally. Was it worth it, little girl? Is this what you wanted?
Quietly crying, Quickly pretending you have allergies, Quit pretending you're okay when you're not...
Once upon a time, there was a little girl with brown hair and pail skin and blue eyes.
Run away before you Regret it, Race down the hill again, Remember Rock Detectives?
She dreamed nightmares she could not wake up from, and remembered what it was like to be tickled awake in the morning by two pairs of hands and two off key melodies, and a day of promise and mystery and love, and all those things little girls take for granted while they still believe they are invincible as they hang from monkey bars.
Slowly healing, Silently remembering, Somewhere over the rainbow...
Once upon a time, the little girl told her story to that golden haired best friend she'd known since her life was easy, and her book was open. Tears swam in her eyes, her big blue eyes she inherited from the father she still loved, despite it all, and her tale unfolded. And her friend, she cried, too. Because that is what friends are there for. And she held the brown haired girl, the broken little girl, as she cried and cried about all the lies she had heard and all the stories she still hadn't written, and all the things that were going to change.
Tell me a secret, Tomorrow is just another day, mommy crying into the Telephone, Ticonderoga pencils...
The little girl got her wish.
Was it worth it?
Underlying truth in every lie, Did you forget Us?, Uttering you're sorry, understanding nothing...
Once upon a time, there was a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes just like her father's. She loved him to the moon and back. She gave him every pretty stone she could find in her gravel driveway. He told her all of the secrets of the universe. And she believed him.
Venom in the wound, Vacation homes in Ireland, Veer away from me now...
“You got what you wanted.”
“I have a secret.”
“Once Upon a Time...”
“Remember all those things you took for granted?”
“It's a nightmare I can't wake up from...”
“There was a little girl with brown hair and blue eyes...”
“I'll be here for you through all of this.”
“Call me if you need to talk.”
“She loved him to the moon and back.”
“I don't know what to do.”
“I miss you, daddy.”
“And she believed him...”
What happens when we grow up? Where do our tears go? Why can't I remember what It Was like? Was it worth it? Why won't you answer me? Where are You? Was she worth it, daddy? Where are you? Why is this happening to me? Where are you where are you where are...
The hills are not scary anymore, to the little girl. She doesn't even have to clench her fists.
Xylophones are colorful, I never met anyone named Xavier, X marks the spot, I'm drawing lots of X;s, X's over everything, X's over Rock detectives, X's over the songs you used to sing, X's over it all, you've drawn lots of X's, Daddy...
The books aren't as thick anymore, to the little girl. She barely counts to pages.
You used to tell me bedtime stories, You used to tweak my nose, You used to yell out lines from John Wayne movies, You used to wear Yellow ties with blue shirts...
The secrets weren't a mystery anymore, to the little girl. They really are not as fun as they're made out to be.
And once upon a time, there lived a little girl who took a lot of things for granted.
And once upon a time, life was just a daydream to her.
Once upon a time, the little girl told a story.
And once upon a time, this story was about a little girl who made all the wrong wishes.
Was it worth it, little girl?
Was it worth it, forgetting how lucky you were?
Was it worth it to replace Rock Detectives with Truth or Dare?
Was it worth it, daddy?
Was it worth it?
Was it worth it?
Was it worth it?
Nothing starts with the letter Z. Nothing ends with the letter Z. I'm sorry I can't end my story right. Z. But I don't think it's over yet. Z. So I'll keep trying to grow. Z. Until I find the proper ending. Z. Z. Z. Z. Sleepovers with that golden haired best friend. Z. Z. Z. Riding downhill too fast. Z. I'm trying, daddy. Z. Z. Z. I love you, Daddy. Z.Z.Z.Z.ZZZZ.......
I love you.
