Homework. I was doing it. Then, off in the distance beyond my open window, I hear a little voice. She was reciting something I heard on Disneychannel once, one of those commercials where the kids go on TV to talk about the cool job there parents had. She would say, "Hi, my name's ______, and my dad does this and this for a living." Then she'd end it with the catchphrase they kids also say on the commercial, "What a Life!" Gosh, when I looked out that window, I thought I was looking in a mirror. She reminded me so much of when I was a kid. She was pacing around on her scooter, saying this stuff, pretending she was on Disneychannel. When I was little, I'd just walk outside with either my handball or my basketball, and walk around the whole neighbor just making up stories or pretending to be on shows like on Disneychannel or something; just bouncing my ball. Beautiful memories of those days, of just getting lost in the stories I made up, being such great friends with these imaginary people. I use to do it everyday after school, I remember. My neighbor, who we call Senior, used to tell me to count how many times I bounce my ball. That actually made me a bit uncomfortable, because I hated it when people were outside at the same time I was bouncing my ball. I didn't like it, because it would appear I was talking to myself, and I hated imagining what a weird kid people thought I was seeing myself talking to no one.
But right as I looked out the window, her big brown eyes met mine, and she got this sheepish look on her face and all she could do was hiccup "Hi." I could've sworn I was looking in a mirror of when I was younger again.
It's really silly, once you think about it, how much I cared what people thought of me. One of the things I loved to do most was making up stories and bouncing my ball. It was my escape from the world. It was my own world. I loved it there.
But after a time, I just stopped. I stopped bouncing my ball. Why? I don't really know. It just kind of faded. Actually, I had gotten this big, soft ball from an arcade place and I would take that and hit it against my wall in my bedroom. It wasn't the same as outside in my Col De Sac, but I guess I thought it was better at the time because it was inside and I could be in my own privacy without having the fear of people wondering "Why is she talking to herself?"
When I reached an age when I stopped completley, my dad told me I should bounce my ball again. He said he thought it was a way of me clearing my thoughts and just a distressing thing for me, and it was. Not long after I stopped did I battle with different emotional problems. Kind of sad.
Now I still don't bounce my ball, but I wish I did. My neighbors would probably all come up to me and say, "Bouncing the old ball again Chrissy?" Even in one of my "get well" cards I got from my neighbors after getting an operation, it said "We miss hearing you bounce your ball. Get well soon."
You know what was the only thing that stopped me? I don't. Maybe it was maturing. Maybe it was no more time because of homework or something. But I feel like a big possiblity was that I unconciously let myself believe people thought I was strange, and I myself thought so too, and I stopped because of it.
Next time, I won't watch my little neighbor out the window, if she ever does recite Disneychannel again. I'll just let her pace by on her scooter. I don't want her to ever stop herself just because she sees someone watching her. I don't ever want her to believe she's strange just because she has an imagination she's willing to say out loud. That's what makes her beautiful, is her imagination. and her innocence.
"sees a young girl smile on the black street
clothed in innocence
Dancing and dreaming
like a girl she used to know
oh, little girl, please always
let your white stars glow.
Let your white stars shimmer
just like the snow
like them sparkle in the black street
when it's all you really know."
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