A homecoming

It's chilly out there. So I pull on the sweatshirt, soft and faded with time. Gather my things, lock the door. Make the .8 mile drive to my old high school. The field is illuminated under bright lights, and a crescent moon.

Parking in the old softball field, I step out of the car. Crickets underfoot. Blue and gold everywhere.

My God. It's been almost ten years.

And the freshman girls are so unsure of themselves. The freshmen boys are itching to hold a hand. I step through the gates and stare down the length of the field. It's the same thick, green grass I used to run on.

It's the same. But everything is different. I'm different.

The stands are full. The energy of pep rally pulsing through the crowd. Cheerleaders raise their arms. Kickoff.

I used to dream of getting away. Of being a great success. Of coming back older, beautiful, sophisticated.

Intermittently I chat with Mama, and share Twizzlers with Stepdad. And there are greetings all around, people lost for years, coming home. So we hug, and I feel their long lost love on the sleeves of my sweatshirt, and I know I'll keep it a while longer. Touchdowns are scored. Young couples pass holding hands.

I remember the bonfire. It crackled, and we watched the logs burn high, and bright.

And the little one I used to babysit is now in the marching band. This is the gift of a small town. This circle. This coming home.

I want to tell me, then, I want to tell her that she's everything she'll ever need already. I'd tell her she's strong, and bold, and enough.

I'd tell her to wear her heart on one sleeve, dignity on the other. And that friends will come, and go, ever changing. And boys will break her heart, but she will live through it to find something lasting,and real.

Leaving a little before the end of the game, working my way through the crowd. The sky black, the stars twinkling. Ten years ago I was a girl walking through a crowd. And tonight I'm a woman walking her own path.

It will all be ok.