Detour

I took a detour this morning on my way to work. The hustle and bustle of Roger was a bit much, so I turned down a little road called Fremont. I spent 3 of my childhood years in a little duplex there, next door to my grandmother. I had my headphones plugged into my phone, listening to Incubus (Morning View, in case you were wondering). It was as I passed that little duplex that I heard a sound. It was loud enough, or perhaps deep enough in my brain, that it caused me to stop, to pull the earphone out of my ear. I stood there a moment, in front of the mailbox that had been replaced when Dad hit it, and took in my surroundings. I learned to ride my bike right over there. We used to play under that tree. You remember that weird little ravine that we went into over behind the houses? Nana had those glass pots & pans. They were that weird brown color. Do you remember those? I miss those things. I miss those little things, the lack of responsibility from our childhood. I wouldn't go back, but I do miss some of those things. I stood there for a few minutes, looking around, smelling the smells of childhood. I put my earphone back in, smiling at the memories of being a child, smiling at the girl I was then, smiling at the woman I am now.
I thought, maybe, you'd like to know that I believe that I was called by my child-self this morning. I believe that she, in her own way, reached out and tugged on my shirt. She wanted my attention, if just to remember her and revel in her loss. She's still here with me in a way, but I won't ever be her again. I won't ever be that carefree, that sweetly ignorant. I'm going to have to find a way to reconnect with her again, but for now, I will just remember that little girl in the dark blue, floral dress that didn't match the socks and shoes I wore, but Ma still let me take school pictures in it. The blunt bangs that hung across my tiny forehead, the small hands that were slow to move, the little decisions that I refused to make as I got older.
I need her to know that I miss her like mad, and that I wish I could find her again. I will. Just give me time.