AUTUMN

On Tuesday, as I sat in Panera, I saw a girl I used to know. She walked through the front door followed by a trail of autumn leaves. I thought to call out to her...in elementary school we were the best of friends but fell out of touch around eighth grade. Seeing old friends is nostalgic––it reminds me of a simpler time…a time when the reward of a hard day of work was recess and chocolate milk. But the thought of simpler times also highlights the complexities of the now as well as the fleeting days of youth. So I withheld my “hello” and avoided the smalltalk it would ensue, as well as the pain of reminiscing––being reminded that it's 2018 and we’re not those kids anymore.

Even if we wanted to be, the momentary silences in our discourse would point to the years of disconnection; the kids who became teenagers and are now 20 somethings standing in the middle of Panera with nothing but how are you’s and half smiles. I wonder if smalltalk is a by-product of adulthood? Does growth cause one to lose commonalities with others, therefore creating these gaps...awkward silences? Or is it that we've grown more self-consumed and struggle to find common ground? She looked my way...I looked at the floor—I thought of the wood chips that faithfully caught me whenever I slipped off the jungle gym. How I’d stain my navy blue trousers in the grass without remorse. But today these slacks have no stains, they’re well tailored and pleated. She ordered a bagel and I continued editing.