You promised
You promised.
I know.
I promised you I would never change.
I promised you “hang out” would never be allowed. “Hanging out” is for old, grown-up people.
You promised.
I promised you I would always love school.
But the recesses turned to five-minute passing periods, and the spelling tests turned into PSATs. The homework lasted more than an hour, and the system is cheating us of vitamin D.
I promised you that I wouldn’t turn into my siblings—doing nothing besides school work. But the system doesn’t let me.
I tried, though. I pretended school was something I still loved through seventh grade and halfway into eighth grade. I ignored the tests and the minuscule stress that was beginning to load up. I ignored the unyielding structure the day ultimately had. I ignored the slow walkers that crowded the halls and the homework every night. I even ignored the sprained ankle that kept me from dancing.
I tried for you.
I told people “I still love school, and that will never change” even though, in the back of my mind, it already had. I was proving everyone who said that would change wrong. I wanted to love school.
You promised.
I promised you I would never change my favorite color. It would always be pink.
But then my cousin told me I could change it.
We thought changing my favorite color was against some unspoken law. I thought changing my favorite color would be some grown-up, rebel thing to do. But my cousin three years younger than me told me the evolution of her favorite colors, and I had an epiphany.
Pink to purple to blue to the madness of greens and blues that run through my mind.
I promised you it would be pink, but trying to keep it there made me start to hate it.
You promised.
I promised you I’d never stop playing. I wish I hadn’t, and sometimes I still do. But it gets hard when you run out of time.
You promised.
I promised you I’d never let the thoughts of others push through. I promised that the world wouldn’t get to me.
But I couldn’t keep it.
Their thoughts, though usually imaginary, stumble around in my brain. They tell me what to do and what not to do. They dictate my life, and I promised you that wouldn’t happen.
I guess I’m a boring old teenager now.
You promised.
I know.
I promised so many things—many of which have slipped my mind.
I promised you I’d stay little forever.
But years interrupt. Life interrupts. School interrupts. Society finds a way of prying in.
I promised, and I failed.
I am sorry.
Lauren Batterbee is a senior entering her third and final year on staff for The Central Trend. She is almost always doing ballet, and if she isn’t, she...