Issue 10.1 Fall 2014

issue 10.1 cover image

 

 

New Seasons and Scenes

 

Elizabeth Minarich

 


Today is our one year anniversary, and although it doesn’t sound like much, that is quite the feat. We started off on rocky waters and we barely made the voyage out alive – literally. There was a point where I was afraid my dad would pull the gun out on him. My parents’ version of the devil is somewhere along the lines of a teenage boy with hair that is too long, ear lobes that are too stretched, skin that is too inked and pants that are too tight going after their teenage daughter, and that is him, exactly. I can’t say that I blame them, being parents. It’s in their nature. The definition of a parent in the Angsty Teenage Handbook is: (n) irrational, judgmental, conservative, fun hating, unsympathetic prison warden, generally out to ruin your life and destroy all of your fun. But, as insistent as they were against us being together, I was twice the amount of stubborn.

 

So here we are, a year later, hiking in the national park and forest preserve. It is November, the month all teenage girls, myself included, love for its compatibility with leggings, oversized sweaters, cuddling, and pumpkin spice lattes (how can we be made fun of for all liking a season as wonderful as this?) Although the glory days of summer are coming to a close, fall holds a whole new world of excitement and Instagram photo-ops. The world is a sea of orange, yellow, and red. When the wind blows, little fiery tornadoes rise up from the path and dance around our feet. We hike up the makeshift dirt avenues where roots come out of nowhere and grasp at our ankles. We hold hands to keep each other from being ensnared by the undergrowth, and just because we love each other.

 

It is the best and worst kind of love: young love. Everything is overly passionate and overly dramatized. When we’re happy, we are on cloud nine. The hardest of days pass by with ease because I have him to look forward to. It makes the fights with my parents tolerable because I know I still have him. I feels like no matter what happens, I will be okay. I am in a constant state of elation and the sun is always shining.

 

That is, until, we fight. Being young and immature, it’s always over dumb things, things that should not even matter, things that parents can’t help with because it’s new to this generation…

 

“Why did you tweet at that guy? What the hell is wrong with you? How do you think that makes me feel?” “How come you posted an Instagram picture with another girl? You barely even post pictures with me!” “So it’s Monday. And I’m not your man crush. I’m not good enough for all your precious followers, huh?” “WHY AREN’T I YOUR SNAPCHAT BEST FRIEND? ONLY I GET TO SEE YOUR STUPID DOUCHEBAG FACE!!”

 

How foolish those disagreements are. How irrelevant. How unimportant. How absolutely childish. But how much they hurt. How shitty they make me feel, how worthless. Because that’s the thing about young love. It hurts. You don’t quite know how to act or respond. Every fight is the end of the world. And that’s scary, because there will never be anyone else who you could possibly love as much as them. They might have faults, but you have to see past that, because you believe that this is the best and truest and only love you will ever find. So we stayed together.

 

And again, here we are, walking, holding hands, being in love, on our one year anniversary, during the most wonderful of seasons at one of the most beautiful of places. We plop down on a bluff overlooking the water and sit close. Again, the purpose of sitting close was twofold: A) It’s cold out, and even my trendy and practical sweater-and-legging combo isn’t doing the trick, and B) Being close all the time, no matter the social situation, is a requirement that comes with young love.

 

As we sit here in lovey-dovey, naïve bliss, he says he has something for me. He demands that I close my eyes, I do as instructed, and he sets something in my hand. A small box. A ring box. A promise ring box. I am overwhelmed with emotion. But not the emotion you would expect.

 

Descriptive words you would expect me to use: happy, overjoyed, ecstatic, elated, delighted, euphoric. Words I am going to use instead: unsure, conflicted, uncertain, nervous, indecisive, skeptical. In this moment, something hits me.

 

I am seventeen years old. Somewhere around 6,000 days, to be more specific, and that’s quite a small number. $6,000 dollars could not buy a nice car. Burning 6,000 calories is not significant weight loss. 6,000 square miles is only 1/632nd of the United States. I have only been around for 6,000 days, and a promise ring, as one might assume, involves a promise. A promise to stay with that person. So by the transitive property of math, if promise ring = promise to stay together forever and engagement ring = promise to stay together forever, then promise ring = engagement ring. This means that I am engaged at only 6,000 days old, and I would be with this person for another 29,219 days (Important side note: I did not do all of this math in my head sitting on a bluff in the middle of the woods when I was supposed to be acting happy; I’m not a savant and I greatly value the calculator. It was an afterthought, but it effectively describes how I felt at the time).

 

Young love is a once in a lifetime feeling. It is powerful and it is magical. You love more strongly than anyone but a young person knows how to love, because you do not yet know hurt or heartbreak. It is careless and free and wild. It’s sneaking out at night and driving fast so your parents can’t catch you. It’s spilling out your deepest secrets under the stars because you assume that person will never betray you. It’s staring into each other’s eyes and repeating “I love you” until you fall asleep, engulfed in each other’s warmth. It’s thinking that nothing will ever change and no matter what, this person will always be there for you. It’s precious and incomparable to anything else and will only be experienced to that intensity and depth once. And right here, on this perfect day with the perfect weather with the perfect boy, the realization of how young I am really came into perspective. I am not ready to settle down. I am not ready to promise a forever to someone else. I am ready to live my life, try new things, meet new people, go to college, date someone different, truly experience the various facets that being young and growing up has to offer. For me, young love is over. The curtains are closing on a scene in my life, and hopefully Act II holds new characters and surprises for me.

 

 

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