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What I Wish to Tell You

A chat with my ten-year-old self.

By Sarah MasseyPublished 3 years ago 6 min read
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I sit in my favorite down town café with my usual order: medium Peanut Butter Mocha Frappuccino with no whip, no drizzle. $4.49. During the summer it was $4.50 even, but now I get a penny back, and get to think that I’m lucky. I sit at my usual high table with bar stool, so I can sit or stand as I please. My lap top is open with a fresh, new document ready to go. She should be here any minute. In my head, I practice what I’m going to say to her. You turned out just fine, after all. You never lost the taste buds to enjoy dinosaur egg oatmeal and Lucky Charms. You’ve made a career of your art, music, and writing. Good for you! High School was not a bad as you thought it would be. Crushes really are not that big of a deal. You really should wait until you’re thirty to date. It’s kind of a waste of time.

The door to the café opens, and she steps through the door way. She wears her favorite shirt: bright blue Lego Land shirt and Lilo and Stitch visor, her only wearable souvenirs from the best family vacation ever. She bounces to the counter and orders a Rice Krispy Treat and fresh lime soda. She has not yet gained the taste buds for coffee. I get my gift for her out of my back pack. The “Boy Toy” she was not allowed to have for Christmas: Kinnects, the magnetic version of her other favorite toy, Legos. She’s a builder, and always will be. Minecraft will be a big deal.

“Hello!” she chimes and jumps up on the bar stool next to me.

“I have something for you.” I give her the box, and she shrieks with joy. She immediately rips it open and dumps out all the parts. A few clatter to the floor.

“My mom and dad don’t want me to have this. Are you going to tell them?”

“Nah, it’s our secret.”

She opens her treat and takes a bite of the marsh mellow goodness, “So,” she mumbles through her mouthful, “what is it that you wanted to tell me?” She grabs a handful of the cool, smooth pieces and begins to put them together.

So, so much. I’ll start with the good news. “You become an artist.”

“Really?! That’s so cool! And I, like, do that for a living?”

“Yup! There are times you have to make art for other people, and sometimes they don’t like it, so you have to redo it. But overall it’s a good job.”

“Do I get to build stuff? Like, with Legos?”

“Build stuff, yes. With Legos, no. You have something better to build stuff with.”

“Yeah, what’s that?” She aligns two pieces together to complete the second layer of the tower.

“You build a world with your words and show it to your friends. They really like it.”

“Do I become an author?!” She practically screams at me with excitement.

“Uh…” I haven’t gotten that far yet. I don’t want to discourage her. It’s not a lie. She did get a short story published, so-- “Yes. You do.”

“Is it the alien story? That one’s kinda dumb. Why would you show that one to your friends?”

“No, it’s not that one. And it’s not that dumb. You haven’t met these characters yet, but you will soon.”

“Cool.” She takes another bite and puts together a few more pieces. She has the beginnings of a tower.

I need to tell her. I want to tell her that she makes it out alright. She makes it through the tough things.

“You need to tell your mom you love her.”

“Why? She’s not around anyway.”

“That doesn’t matter. She’s not going to be here forever.”

She stops everything and looks at me like she’s about to cry, “Does she die?”

“No.”

She looks down at the pieces in her hand. “That’s good. Does she really care though?”

“Yes.” I lie. She does not need to hear the truth about this. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I chicken out.

“If you say so… What else do I need to know?” She adds the next layer to the tower.

“There’s no need to fight with your sisters. Ever. They really are your best friends.”

“OK. It’s not like we fight all the time anyway.”

She quietly puts together the third layer of the tower. She is completely content to just play quietly by herself. That part of her never changes.

“Don’t let anyone tell you that you can’t,” I say to break the silence.

“Can’t what?” She takes another bite of the Rice Krispy Treat.

“That you can’t become an author, or artist, or musician.”

“Will people not want me to do that?”

“Some people will discourage you,” I sigh, “But not everyone. Your sisters will be your biggest supporters.”

“And that’s why I gotta be friends with them?”

“Yeah.”

She sips her soda, examining the pieces she has left. I sip my coffee and examine how many minutes left I have with her. Not many pieces, not many minutes. We should make them count.

“I need to talk to you more often,” I say.

“Why? I’m just a silly kid. You’re an adult. Adults are way cooler.”

“It helps to be a silly kid when you are making art. It keeps the art fun. Do not stop being a silly kid. That’s what people will love about you.”

She looks at me with that look I give people when I am being sarcastic. She mastered it quick.

“Do people really pay me to be a silly kid?” She asks.

I chuckle, “Yes, so it’s important that you practice being silly all the time.”

“Do we get married?”

The question catches me off guard. It is a good question and deserves a good answer.

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Aren’t you old enough to get married now?” She has just four more pieces to go now.

“Well, yeah, I am, but there’s more important—”

“What’s more important?” my ten-year-old self interrupts.

I cling to my coffee, hoping the answer is at the bottom of the mug. Kids. They can be geniuses, but they can also ask impossible questions.

“I’m glad that you want to get married now, but I gotta tell you that will change. Just be patient with yourself, okay?”

“Okay.” She puts the finishing touches on the tower. She takes another bite of the treat and looks at her work with a smile.

“You like it?” I ask.

“Yeah. It’s the best tower yet.”

“The best is yet to come.”

“So, things get better?”

“Lots better,” I lean over and hug her tightly, “Just hang in there, kiddo.”

I release her from the hug and release myself from the past.

I sit alone in the coffee shop with an empty mug and a full future.

art
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About the Creator

Sarah Massey

Sarah is an animator and short film director at the birthplace of Route 66 Springfield, Missouri. A graduate of Drury University in the class of 2020, Sarah is published two fiction short stories in Drury’s Literary Magazine, Currents.

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