Change Follows Me Home

One day, she shows up for the first time. Then, you start seeing her everywhere. Her name is Change. You cannot escape her. 

The first time I saw Change, she had been standing at the corner of the street behind my preschool. It had been an otherwise unassuming Tuesday. The clouds hung in the sky wearily. They had been dark and threatening, as they so often are here in Vancouver. 

At that time, I must have been no older than six. I remember thinking that my clothes were shrinking too fast. I was also filled with a funny feeling, though I assumed it was because a few of my teeth felt loose in my mouth. I thought maybe there was something wrong with my gums. Why had they suddenly lost the ability to hold onto my bones?

Change had locked eyes with me as I walked by, trudging across the mud in my flower-patterned rain boots. Her eyes were a bright golden; a colour I do not think I will ever see again. I was both comforted and scared. She was a little girl, older than I was. She smiled at me, and I got the sense she might have pushed me over, had I stayed to talk to her. 

My father had been just two steps ahead of me. I scampered closer to him. I do not think he had seen her, though I do not know for certain. I just remember that I kept my head down and kept walking forward, careful not to look at Change again. I could’ve sworn we walked right through her.

I outgrew my first sweater that day. Then, I lost my first tooth that night. (I received my first coin from the Tooth Fairy!)

The second time Change and I crossed paths was at my grade seven graduation. There I was, standing in the gymnasium in front of the podium, facing the people I had come to call my friends. I remember my best friend, Belle, staring at me. I remember wishing our friendship would stand the test of time.

I had just said the last words of my speech when I spotted Change in the audience. Like me, she had grown, though her eyes were the same. She was the epitome of a teenager - black hoodie and all. I remember thinking about her newfound absence of colour. The inner English teacher in me tried to analyze the symbolism of it. I came up empty. 

Everyone applauded me as I finished speaking. Change did not. She just stood there, hands defiantly by her side, cold eyes staring into mine. I broke eye contact first when I returned back to my seat. She was gone by the time I looked up again. 

Change kept appearing in my life after that. It was almost as if she was following me. I went to highschool and she was there too. I saw her in the hallways, in the cafeteria, in the library, and everywhere else.

Belle and I stopped talking to one another. There was no fight, just a slow divergence between our lives. Soon we found ourselves so far away from one another that I sometimes wonder if she remembers me at all. 

Change grew more persistent. She would follow me home every day like a lost puppy. I couldn’t lose her no matter how many turns I took around the neighborhood. Eventually I stopped trying to lose her. I allowed her to walk beside me. We mused at the clouds together. I told her my secrets. I took solace in the sound of her corporate boots as they clack clack clacked across the pavement.

I think, in the end, I managed to become her friend, even though I never outgrew my fear of her. I think that fear might linger somewhere inside my mouth forever, tasting like something suspiciously close to blood and feeling like wiggly teeth.

There is no point to this story. Not unless you count the two important things I learned:

1. Change is scary. 

2. Change is the only thing in life that is constant.