by Amy W., 16
I used to watch you with a sort of admiration. You mostly traveled in groups, sometimes in pairs, always loud and laughing. You’d have handfuls of those large plastic shopping bags. You looked like adults, although I knew you weren’t—you had freedom, money, friends. I suspected many of you were engaging in some underage drinking (sorry if you didn’t—I probably bought into those high school stereotypes a little too much). You could definitely all drive, I thought. I was always envious of you, watching you laugh your way down the little half-steps that littered Bellevue Square, tossing your empty boba cups in the trash, stylishly dressed in the latest trends, occasionally with bright hair and chunky sunglasses.
To my elementary-aged self, you were all incomprehensibly tall, wise, and smart. I learned many little things from you. To the blonde girl who rested her hands a certain way by her side—elegant, soft—did you know that I still imitate you? To the one who slung her three shopping bags over her shoulder and walked with a determined purpose towards who knows where—I am reminded of you when I power walk. Sometimes, when I’m with my own friends, I reminisce about the way you all laughed without a care, fixed each other’s collars, and didn’t forget your sunscreen. I still remember.
I didn’t get to see you during my middle school years (thanks, COVID), so when I next visited the mall, I searched for you. I couldn’t find you, though. I saw only families, elderly couples, and young children. I only realized it when I stumbled down those shallow steps with my little crew of high school freshmen friends:
I’m you now. Down to the shopping bags, boba, and in-the-moment laughter.
Being a teenager isn’t quite what I’d imagined it to be. I don’t have your bright hair or cool sunglasses, but I do have your easy laughter, loud banter, and quirky little habits. Perhaps now, when I pass by a young girl with her even younger sister, I can leave behind the same lasting impressions you did—inspire another cohort to “grow up” in their own way.
Thank you for being a good role model for me—albeit unintentionally.
Bellevue, Washington
Bridge Ink 