I cop to the chapstick

Today I overheard a fourteen-year-old girl talking to her school principal about the newest, deepest and most misunderstood love of her life. It sort of went like this.

Girl: "...and I walked by his house eight times yesterday, and picked up a rock from his driveway every time. I've got, like, nineteen rocks now."

Principal: "That's stalker behaviour, you know."

The girl is crestfallen. I can't let that happen. She's a sister, a comrade in arms in the battle of her rationale mind versus her hormones. I get it.

Me: "I kept a piece of cloth in a shoebox for six months. This guy I had a big thing for used it at a concert. It reeked. Eventually my mom told me to throw it out. I did - after another month."

Not quite a lie but not quite the truth - I know I was asked to throw some reeking piece of something away which reminded me of an unrequited adolescent obsession; what the item was I can't remember. But it works. We grin at each other. Co-conspirators. The principal doesn't look pleased.

Principal: "Oh, that doesn't help. Don't play along. Come on - help me out."

Help him out? Puh-leeze. He's sitting there in his Lacoste shirt, Burberry jacket and comfortable shoes, judging her. Without even trying to put himself in her place.

He doesn't get the teeter-totter emotions, the sudden highs and devastating lows. He doesn't get that everything at that point in a chick's life is high-tension wire, elastic bands stretched to capacity, everything at the far end of the spectrum. Sometimes I miss it.

A few months ago, I went to see a teen flick with a friend, her seventeen-year-old daughter and the daughter's-boyfriend's-younger-sister. (that's how we talk, you know) I was immersed in a total girl teen experience. Nervous giggling, disaffected stares, ear-drum rupturing squeals, feet up on seats and eyes peeking above denim-clad knees. Collective sighs and sharp intakes of breath at the glimpse of the heartthrob. Smells of popcorn and cherry chapstick. Okay, I cop to the chapstick.

It was awesome. Total adolescent girl nirvana.

My friend and I talked about how good it felt to be surrounded by the girl-ness of it all. The great unknown, the experiencing things for the first time, the fluttery chest feelings and butterflies flitting everywhere, taking over our brain. Our logical, rational brain. The one that beat everyone on the debate team. Then that distracted, hummingbird movement brain thing takes over for a few years and it's earth shattering. Amazing, awkward, devastating and magnificent all rolled up in one big ball of energy.

I still get those butterflies - especially when my fella grabs my hand and I'm not expecting it. But sometimes I miss laying in bed, looking at my ceiling and wondering all the nonsensical things my fifteen-year-old-girl brain wondered.

Then I grab a glass of wine and realize it's pretty good when the elastic isn't stretched to capacity. Mostly. Here's to all the crazy, ridiculous things we did - and do - as those people we were. And are.


~ Jeannette