They laughed, truly
laughed, the giggles rolling out shamelessly, echoing across the
bathroom stalls, or what at the moment seemed to be a shelter for
imaginary characters from Mrs.Dora's fairy tales. Rosy cheeks and
fly-away hairs, I hungrily attempted to absorb their innocence. Their
eyes casually widening at every fresh scent, at the way the sunlight
reflected off the slide that was temporarily a fortress. Grins
stretched excessively at the uncovering of new sensory nerve endings
as the water dribbled awkwardly between the wrinkles of Julia's
fingers, palms, arms, elbows as she recklessly opened the tap. Every
burst of breath as they lapped the fenced playground, every
accidental outbreak of fairly logical reasoning: a blissful
discovery. I envied the youth before my eyes. The 26 souls that had
barely indented the path of time with their 6-inch sandals. They
still kept possession of the secret they would never learn to keep,
let alone acknowledge. The ability to see the mountain for what it
merely is, a mountain, without the help of pills and manufactured
nirvana, with a name as deceiving as the short bursts of ignorance
that wisdom, quite simply, would never allow. "Ms. Katya,"
Ben called, "try and catch me!" and with that, took off,
without so much as a glance in my direction. And to think, I am still
but a child. Why then, can I not sprint towards ecstacy and sweat
without a constant fear of being seen breathless, red and sloppy?
Why, when my heart aches for it so?