appoggiatura

sliver of the formative years

6:35 p.m. - 2002-01-14

In a month and a day the little Gorgon will be fifteen. Fifteen. Poor boy. That was a frightful age, halfway between nothing and something, and full of all the angst and insecurity the adolescent psyche could get its hands on. I never did like it. That was the year most of my friends took to calling me by the first syllable of my given name; thankfully, they abandoned that pastime along with those Asian emotion bracelets. I quit the dojo when I was fifteen. I had my First Real Crush, as I've been told the teen magazines call it, and was horrified. That was the year I realized Jessie wasn't a god, took a liking to tequila, was introduced to Les Mis, spouted pipe dreams with Lisha, embraced laxatives and hypochondria, wandered through London, took PIB Chem and PIB AP Government (and survived both, but only barely) supported an abortion, stopped a suicide, and blah and blah and blah, and now my brother's about to hit that age? Heavens... he just doesn't understand it, does he? He isn't supposed to age that way, not when I don't feel much older than fifteen myself. Now that I think about it, he's not supposed to grow up that much at all. Defeats the purpose of the term "little brother," you know. He already has the glazed eyes and the superior attitude down cold, not to mention the brat's taller than me. I want to wonder what comes next, but based on what I remember, that doesn't seem like the best option.

Yeah, I'm skipping down memory lane. What else is new, hm? Least I'm not fifteen. But heavens, when did he get so... old?

Ivy, you're not his grandmother. Put a sock in it.

Erk. Sorry.

I should hope so. Isn't there a math worksheet over there with your name on it?

Um. Actually, I haven't written anything on it yet. Besides, you're not my mother any more than I'm his grandmother, so get lost.

I'd reconsider that remark if I were you.

Oh, shut up.

Its logarithms. Midterms are coming up soom.

Like I care? By the way, you forget to put an apostrophe in your "its."

*watches the glass house come crashing down*

Fine. I get the message. Time for math.

Adieu.