【Written by Emma Markowski】
We are both 20. Knees pulled to our chests atop tables in between a 4 lane road (that reminds me strangely of home) and an ice cream shop (that we have forcefully established as our own). The thrift store (where I just bought my shirt and my earrings and my shoes that hurt my feet) sits behind us.
We are both 20. Our ice cream sits abandoned. What remains is only what clings to our sticky fingers. I did not know you when we were both 17 but I know your favorite ice cream flavor at this ice cream shop. We swap bites and spoons. You paid for them both, with the unspoken agreement I would get you back later.
We are both 20. I have so much to say about people who do not deserve the words. You understand that. You offer advice, willingly giving your breath to those in my life that we both know will not remain in it. I talk and talk and talk. “I care!” I say. “I care about everyone and I know it hurts but I care”. You understand.
We are both 20. I stop talking, apologetic (but I know you don’t care). I feel like crying but I am not sad. I am content, already nostalgic for this moment and its warm air and its racing cars and its suburban lights and its aggressive familiarity. You now talk and I now listen. I want to make you feel seen. Want to give you the words of comfort you gave me (you always give me) before. It’s easy but it’s hard. “I hear you!” I say. “I know you care and I care and everything hurts”. I understand.
We are both 20. We won’t be forever. I hope we will talk about this conversation when we are both not 20. Maybe in the same spot. Maybe with the same ice cream. Maybe we will laugh over the naivety of our younger selves. Over the heightened optimism we had over some things and the hopelessness we had over others. Over the fact we thought it would all work out. Over the fact we thought it never could.
But now we are both just 20. We throw away our ice cream. We get into your car and drive back to our shared dorm. I still feel the nostalgia deep in my bones in my heart in my eyes in my words. I have more to say and I say it all over the music you picked out only because you know I like it. We get back and talk about silly things. We say goodnight. Shut our doors and climb into bed. I wonder if I am wrong for not wanting things to change. Wrong for wanting to remain so young and sheltered. Wrong for yearning for the comfort of nights like these when they have not even yet passed. Wrong for writing this when you are just down the hall. Mourning a time that still exists. A friendship I still have. A moment I am still living in.