preteen 70's. bell-bottoms and orange striped shirts. the city slang was still in your mouth even out here in the country. you swung high on the swings scaring yourself a little, your stomach falling, but you were young and free...braids hanging from either side of your head...
cut to gym class, knee- high sweat socks and hiding the fact you had your period. tender and tough. you hated getting older. you loved playing floor hockey - here, right here, is where the love of running came from. coach said you grabbed that baton and ran like a mugger who'd just stolen a purse...
14, brought you to trips up north - college town, sitting in on felini flicks and dancing along to the ska band at the club, it was smelly and hot and full of life. you think about scary monsters and lady lazarus, and teddy. there right there, shaped who you'd be - db, the poetess, and zen. you think about the ketchup stains on your new jacket and your polo scented first crush...
15 is such an odd age. not celebratory. at least not back then. but you were in the thick of it, drawing, painting and phenomenology. he was in his 30's. and then there's you- frizzy head, capezios, skinny mod ties, sitting next to a girl with a vial of mescaline...
you were a good girl. did your homework, brushed your teeth, and at sunday mass - prayed for everyone to find inner peace hoping it would effect the world. you handed over your dollar to the basket, cried watching roots, loved your parents, and ran in the sunshine...
you did not know the world.
nor the meaning of time.