Anthems for a Seventeen-Year-Old Girl

There are those moments when you realize how utterly insignificant your existence in this universe is. Imagine the head of a pin: that head is Earth, with the rest of the solar system, galaxy, and universe acting around it but not paying it any mind. The tiniest molecules on the tiniest head of the tiniest pin are you and me. I am small, smaller than the head of a pin and I know this, embrace it even. But everywhere seems like the universe to me. School, a coffee shop, my own room - they are all giants and I am a miniscule human whom they don't notice that they are stepping on. And I don't even have the lungs to shout at them to stop.

Something happened today, though. Someone saw me - I mean, really saw me. He sat down near the table that I sit at during lunch. I don't eat lunch at school; I read instead. I saw him looking over his shoulder at me a few times, but I didn't look up from my book. I remember what he said when he finally turned all the way around in his seat and spoke to me.

"Cat's Cradle is great, but it's not the best Vonnegut, by far. I prefer God Bless You, Dr. Kevorkian."

And then he tossed me a smirk and just got up and walked away.

I swear I fell in love with him right then and there.

-

The moment that he left, his shoulder-length waves of dark hair swinging, my imagination took off. I tried to control it, I really did, but here's the thing about imaginations: they're wild things. Once they begin to run amok, there's not much one can do except enjoy the ride.

He's been the star of my daydreams today, whether we are harmonizing on a magic carpet ride, or raising hell in a sweaty and thrashing mosh pit, or discussing our philosophies and thoughts on Vonnegut's literature whilst curled up in front of a roaring fireplace. Fanciful fantasies have been cooking in my brain all day, until this very moment when the bell rings, signaling the end of last period and forcing me back into reality so that I can walk myself home.

The sky is sprinkling teardrops down on me, crying for the pure poetry of me having met and lost a possible soulmate. All in a day's work.

The jacket I'm wearing doesn't have a hood, even though I always predict rain in my small town; when the rain starts to pick up, all I can do is let it soak me as I saunter home. By the time I reach my front door, I am dripping rain and I smell like a wet dog.

Inside my house smells like pumpkin pie and Christmas music is playing. It's October; my mom doesn't care.

"Good day?" she asks sweetly as I enter the kitchen, where she's busy taking a pumpkin pie from the oven.

"Not really."

"Sorry, honey. Have some pie."