twenty five cents

Four or so years ago my little sisters came into my room right before bed and sheepishly dumped handfuls of quarters onto the bedcover. It was pretty much the last night I ever saw them while they were my baby sisters. Being that four years ago makes them 13 and 11 respectively, they were technically still "little." Ever since that night, whenever I see them it hits me all over again that they are not "the little girls" I used to refer to them as. They may still be younger than me, but you wouldn't know it to see them and talk to them. Occasionally I am forced to realize how much they have grown up, and then I have to stop and think - wait, does that mean I've grown up too?

I don't feel like a graduate. But then again, what is a graduate supposed to feel like? So far the only big difference is the fact that Barnes & Noble is no longer a huge basket of forbidden fruit - I now have all the time in the world to read whatever juicy option strikes my fancy in the aisles (Proust this time, I didn't stand a chance). Well, all the time in the world but maybe not all the money in the world- but I'll get cracking on that next week.

Really though, I feel that I am the same me that I was four years ago- but when I witness the mature young women my little sisters have morphed into all of the sudden I think I potentially have grown a bit too, right? It shocks me that that night wasn't 24 hours ago. I can still feel the tears welling up (the first tears of my "being left at school three states away from everything I have ever known" experience) as my sisters' small hands sprinkled hoarded quarters onto my bed. Their offering may seem silly - but those quarters washed many a sock and shirt during my freshman year, and when I slid them into the greedy slots of my hall washer & dryer units I never failed to remember that night. In fact even now, four years later, with all those quarters long gone, I still am often called back to that night whenever I see Washington's silver profile or slam down the lid on our washer.

Isn't it funny the things we recall? I can't think why I am so vividly and emotionally tied to that memory, but I don't think its going anywhere.

Frankly, I prefer it that way.