It was the last day of school and sitting at the edge of the field was a twelve year old girl. She watched as everyone signed each others year books, but didn’t join in. She knew her father’s orders had them leaving this posting behind in just a few short weeks. It didn’t make sense to continue building relationships with people she’d never see again. To scrawl keep in touch on the inside cover of anyone’s book when she knew she wouldn’t.
This wasn’t her first rodeo, army brat born and raised she knew the drill…
I was that twelve year old girl and this past week that memory has been burned into my brain. I can’t shake it no matter how I try. I wonder how I got to that point. The point where I knew it wasn’t worth my time to even try. I vaguely remember another move. One about 6 years earlier when I really did think I’d keep in touch with the first grade friends I was leaving behind. What I wonder happened to kill that hope from first grade me to 7th grade me?
I’ve spend the past few days saying goodbye and part of me wishes I’d stayed like 7th grade me. That I could stand off to the side and just fade away without really saying goodbye. That I was able to just be here until it was time to drive away with no need to say goodbye. That I could pull the covers over my head and stay in bed until Tuesday. But I’m not 12 year old me anymore. I’m not six year old me either.
I’m something all together different. Someone who values the friends she has enough to want to leave with a proper goodbye and yet with enough experience to know that i will probably never see them again. Probably never talk to them again. It’s just how it is. We’re all moving on, growing up in our own ways and sadly that means growing apart until all we are to each other is a memory a “I used to have this friend who…” and as painful as that is there is a part of me, a large part that is glad I have had these friends even if only for a little while.