An Attitude of Observation

As much as youth have been painted to be derelict, wild children; lost in a swathe of second hand smoke and idle internet absorption, the experience is entirely contradicting.

Imagine a group of eight girls- eleven years old and outcast from the high societies within secondary school. Recognising their fellow fallen, they group together rapidly, soon realising how similar they are to each other despite having completely varied personalities. They manage to contain themselves in a bubble of immaturity accompanied by academic brilliance.

They are what high society would label as ‘’nerds’’.

 

As a key member of this group, I can justify that we were not interested in parties, drinks, alcohol, or sex. The prospect of dating was considered, however more in concept than in practise, as even we did not escape the tendrils of Twilight overwhelming teen fiction. Due to this lack of participation in these activities, we viewed ourselves as in some way, superior.  We were too good to become involved in such things.

We continued our peaceful lives in a hazy bubble of laughter and soft hazes lining the corners of our eyes. Oblivious to any thorns crowding around us and coasting across the azure blue waves of our high-achieving education.

We remained this way for several years until-

Not everyone was okay.

 

Secrets began to bond some members closer than others. Iron chains and rope cords holding us suspended in the frozen animation of idyllic smiles- sadness coiling beneath them.

We held it in until it exploded.

 

                Sorrow scattered across our young minds like the shards of fallen stars, embedding themselves deep in our craniums as we desperately clung to the cords and chains which wore away under the acidity of regret. We interfered too much at the wrong time and too little at the right- a seismic current threw us off course, the winds of our relationships changed and we settled finally into two new divisions.

 

With only two cords bridging the gaps.

 

I precariously tiptoed across these cords from one group to the next. Urging them closer together and shortening the rope each time in a desperate attempt to make us whole again. Foolish, but young minded.

Adamantly it failed; so I comforted myself in the fact that I was still a part of both worlds. Neither one nor the other I drifted like a ghost between walls of identical rooms.

                They were all the same- but they were not together

                They were all the same- but they hated each other

And I could not understand why.

 

All the while, we swathed in our tiny bubble and its puffy clouds interrupting our blue skies. But outside of the bubble thunderstorms were gathering, we were oblivious to the sound. As the grains of time slipped slyly through our fingers we relished the last few moments of innocence and warm summer days soaked in strawberries and lime.

The sands ran out. And we moved on so fast to new faces.

Too fast.

 

The worst part is-

I’m not sure if I care about them anymore, other than for memories sake.