– Michelle Pease

The end of the school day was when life began. Even at eight, I could hardly be contained and content within four cement walls. Point out the adventure in a chalkboard to me. After all, I had better things to do with my time: neighborhood bike races, video games with friends, and neighbors Sean and Chris were always fun, too. The three of us, and I guess my sister too, drowned the majority of our childhood in every possible escape. Life was always more fun when it was a competition, but suddenly less fun when you were defeated. But life only began when the school bus dragged its way back home to Eider Court in Frederick, Maryland.

Mom and Dad worked long hours, so Grandma and Grandpa were always home to greet my sister and me. This had been the routine since we lived in Alexandria. I would drop my books off on the counter and give Grandma a kiss and tell Grandpa what I learned in school.

“Today we learned about metamor-sis.”

“Metamorphosis, Michelle. And why?”

“For our caterpillar experiment!” I exclaimed with pride.

“Boy, schools have changed since I went.” He rolled his eyes and offered an exasperated sigh.

Anyway.

Sean and Chris were knocking at my door before I reached them myself. Dragging my little sister along, we fluttered around the cul-de-sac before deciding what to do. We were young, and the world contained a multitude of possibilities. Yet we settled within the boundaries we were given without question. After all, Mommy and Daddy knew everything: what was right and what was so wrong. Somehow, the mundane became exciting with every fresh day.

Chris was a year older than me, and he knew everything. He mimicked his brother in looks, but his personality was much more rational. I suppose you could say they were both destructive boys. But what boy isn’t, really? Bruising and screaming were merely a part of our daily search for adventure. Strangely enough, or perhaps normal to me, I carried the torch of masculinity too. I preferred dirt and scraped knees to ponies and Barbie dolls. My hair was thick and ragged, and I never cared for hair clips or pretty ponytail holders.

Oh, and I hated pink.

My sister was the quiet one, the youngest out of us all. She and Sean were in the same grade together, so she was closest to him. She had a tiny frame with a sunshine smile and hair the color of the dreaded school bus.

I’m off-topic again.

“Kickball!” Sean shouted his suggestion. He collapsed onto the cement below us with a thud.

“Get up!” Chris demanded. His brother stuck his tongue out, and Chris kicked him in response.

“Let’s explore the house!” I beamed.

The house was newly vacated. For some reason, it never held families for longer than a month. Rumor had it that it was a witch’s cave, where devout magic-practitioners put strange curses on the rocks outlining the backyard. If you touched one, you could possibly shrink to a foot tall, or grow to be at least twelve. But reality held that when the house was empty, rebellious teenagers would use it as a place to hang out and smoke. Sometimes we found relics from these late night parties and put them in our safe box: a hole underneath the fire hydrant at the bus stop. We discovered at least three lights, complete with lighter fluid, and a box of cigarettes. Nobody told the adults.

“Nah, my mom doesn’t want me walking around in there.” Sean kicked at the ground. He sounded eager, but uncertain. In this, I saw my opportunity for manipulation.

“Aw, come on. If your mom finds out, tell her it was my idea,” I insisted. I wasn’t ready to deal with any thought of consequence.

I had an impulse and needed to act it out. I felt the call of life, and I needed to embrace it!

Chris was sold by my lame attempt at persuasion. Brittany merely shrugged. As long as she didn’t get in trouble, it was fine by her. Sean remained stubborn.

“I don’t know.”

“Come on, kid. You’re coming with us.” Chris made the decision for his little brother. He tugged him off the ground and pushed him toward the front lawn.

I don’t remember exactly what happened inside the house. I remember a rag-tag kitchen with all the electrical wiring cut. As we ascended up the stairs, we found two boxes of cigarettes and a lighter – again. I explored an empty bedroom, while Chris looked at a randomly chosen bathroom. In the toilet, he found two cigarettes. All the wiring throughout the house was cut. Our footsteps echoed in the silence that engulfed us. Brittany was scared because she couldn’t turn the lights on. Sean grabbed her hand and promised he’d protect her. I love the innocence in that memory. Everything was so simple, so straightforward, back then.

I remember stepping to the window and pressing my hand against its cool glass. The world was in front of me. There was so much to explore before Grandma had dinner ready. Cucumber valleys and cerulean skies, beckoning me to jump into their arms. Come, Michelle. The time to live is now. In ten years, you will be an entirely different human. Your fingertips will dance with words that ask for a prosperous future. You will be oppressed by a rural land offering nothing to your small sense of freedom. What do you want out of life? Find it now, learn it now, live it all now!

In an hour or other miniscule passage of time that seemed to have lasted days, the four of us ventured home. We were next-door neighbors, so if any of us needed a release from homework, we could dawdle fifty feet and ask, “Are Sean and Chris home?” or “Are Michelle and Brittany home?” The task was never difficult. If not the evening, then tomorrow held a new rack of possibilities.

As I look at this photo of me stumbling haughtily off of bus 259, I can only remember what I had then, and what I lack now. All these seemingly useless memories that flood my sanity all scream for one thing: confidence. When I was eight years old, stepping off that bus into life, I was confident. I was willing to face danger, even a week without dessert, if it meant spending an afternoon roaming the development with my three greatest friends. Who I was is who I am, and who I hope to be again.