Virgo, Interrupted
A birthday reflection from 28 years (and about three hours) ago.
August 31, 1996. I had taken a road trip to Monterey with my then 7-year-old daughter, and my birthday eve had been a long, full day: the 5-hour drive to get there, some time on Fisherman’s Wharf, a walk along the seashore, dinner, and—Lauren’s favorite part—a swim in the hotel’s indoor pool.
We returned to our room after 9:00, when the pool closed, and Lauren was asleep within minutes. I uncorked the bottle of wine I had bought on the wharf, opened my notebook, and kept the promise I’d made to myself, that I would spend time writing. Somewhere between several full pages and an empty bottle, I decided I would usher in my thirties by washing off my twenties.
At precisely midnight, I stepped into the shower and performed this impromptu ritual, willing the warm water to wash away the grief and loss, tragedy, and Trauma that had played such a large role in my previous decade.
When it felt like I’d sloughed off my twenties, I spent a few more minutes trying to soften psychic scar tissue from my freshman year, when a friend whose birthday was the day after mine stopped having them. I used to be one day older than Janell. That day in Monterey, it was 16 years; today, it is 44.
I’m still looking for the right soap.