Keyla Acevedo-Hargis

This version of her will forever be with me; the carrier of her flame will simply change.

I can already feel it leaving me.

I could feel it when I didn’t make a countdown on my calendar. When I didn’t make an in-depth document or presentation explaining what I hoped to see wrapped up in decorative paper. When I realized I was, yet again, too busy to make any fun plans to celebrate.

The part of me she loved most is fading. The part of me that made her feel most alive is bidding farewell.

This part of me remembers her first-ever bus ride. It was in the summer, before kindergarten started. She sat in the front with her dad and never peeled her eyes away from the window. He told her that this would be how she would get to and from school every day come September. That, alone, made her all the more excited to attend school for the first time.

This part of me remembers how much she loves summer. She would create extravagant murals on her driveway until every inch of her was blanketed in a thin layer of chalk. She would exert her tiny body on the swing set until her feet could reach the green leaves that hung from the nearby tree. She would wave her bubble wand around herself and try to catch them before they popped. She would ride her scooter and bicycle around the cul-de-sac and pretend she was racing extreme competitors—she would always win, of course.

This part of me remembers how much she loved to play pretend. She would spend hours at a time cooped up in her basement, conjuring up the most complicated storylines for her Barbies. She had two imaginary friends: Daphne and Stacy, named after characters from two of her favorite TV shows. They would often accompany her to a make-believe picnic in her living room or to a magical ball in the dining room. She always was dressed up in some sort of princess dress, her face displaying her favorite pair of sunglasses.

This part of me remembers how much she loved to learn. She would stay up all night until the sun was peeking through the hazy morning clouds. The first day of school had always been her favorite; she had missed her friends so much. She loved her brand-new school supplies, untouched and vibrantly as excited for the upcoming months as she was. She would return home to quickly finish up any work, and then return to her scheduled play time.

That was then, however.

Now, things are not the same. I no longer ride the bus. I don’t need to, of course, I can simply drive my little car wherever I need to.

 I still love summer, but I spend my days far differently. My hands and clothes are no longer covered in dustings of chalk and my hair is no longer sticky with tree sap. I cannot remember the last time I rode my bike, and I never use my swingset. 

I don’t allow myself to pretend anymore. At least, not like how I used to. Stacy and Daphne have been gingerly tucked away in a corner of my heart, desperately trying to keep this part of me alive for just a little bit longer.

School exhausts me now. I no longer stay up all night and watch my clock slowly change by the minute until I am awoken by my favorite song. I now slowly roll out of bed, wishing for the day to already be over. My motivation is too far gone, and a new lesson makes my insides groan.

I am growing up. Is this really what I had wanted for so long? What was so wretched about childhood that made me want to escape it so much? Now, I would give every bit of myself to stay here a little longer. I never want this part of me to escape from the gaps between my fingers.

Alas, I only have four more days.

I have four more days until the child that still burns inside of me finally retires her flame. She tells me she is ready, that I am ready, but I don’t want to believe her. I love her too much to let her go completely. So much of me comes from her, that I am scared of who I will be in four days.

She holds my trembling hand, she relaxes my tense shoulders. She tells me that she will never truly leave me; it is simply time for someone new to keep burning her flame.