Reading my old journals.
One of them, from the eighth grade, written in a code
I can no longer decipher.
Shall I toss it this year,
giving up hope that I will ever figure it out?
1962 contains some gems,
compliments from one friend (frenemy?)
“I really admire you for taking tennis lessons because you know you’ll never be any good.”
“I like sitting next to you in church, because then I don’t worry about how bad I sound when I sing.”
“You are a really good listener. I guess it’s because you never have anything interesting to say.”
“That’s a good color for you. It doesn’t make you look washed out like you usually do.”
Each little nugget a small pinprick to my teenage ego.
I want to revisit the girl I was then
And tell her,
“Keep smiling. When you are in your ‘70’s, these words will make you laugh.
And you’ll still be standing.”