the summer of growing up
there were lives I would’ve lived
beach soil and sweat on my knees, running, slipping, falling then laughter in
waves, rounds of town; navigating bylanes with caution- stepping into the summer
of growing up and
jealous glances shunted across the room, dress and size and wit compared,
blitzing like the sequins of the skirt she never bought and then music; lyrics painted
over that would remind me later of the summer of growing up
a sunday in one bed, another on the floor mattress- awkward conversation with a
parent as we crashed at their house for the third time that week, weeks spent
idle in the heat of a cruel summer; watching unexpected rain against car windows with
music or laughter in
waves, memories of beach soil and wooden floor as the accumulated exhaustion
sent me to sleep
and then this life, the least likely scenario alive, a summer of growing up;
three days of not showering and my reflection a bare-faced reminder-
music, laughter too- sourdough and dancing and writing one day and immobility
the next-
but laughter, or wisdom, or faces dearer now that they sit afar
we could never decide on a movie before, but we exhaust libraries now- huddled
apart but the streaming synced in; paused in unison the lives we could’ve lived,
rewriting expectations, spectating summer
growing up
three months of waking up at three
you're a person not a body (but my body is tired), contorting into a person not
a being (unidimensional, cardinal/central/secondary align towards monotony)
rooms spin (I don't like feeling spinny, I had said, falling onto the bed), and
furniture catapults out the balcony (they've done up their house with exposed
brick)
I'm a person not a body, I cut my hair uneven because my person is greater than
my body, I eat one meal a day, turn nocturnal because I'm a person now, body
forgotten and then the body clocks out and the person slumps against the brick
wall
Aamiya Dhillon is an undergraduate student at Ashoka University who spends her time navigating Zoom, her kitchen and on good days, hiking trails. You can find her work on aamiyadhillon.wordpress.com and lacunalit.com.