She noticed she didn’t feel the same way anymore. The pang in her stomach was an automatic, superficial, uncontrollable action. She ignored it as a minor annoyance. Indigestion, hiccups, a pent-up sneeze.
Her hands remained steady, her priorities straight, her smile confident. She didn’t think about how the position of her limbs looked, if her hair was frizzy, if her voice was friendly enough. She just went about her business as usual.
And in that moment, she realized what growing up is. Her happiness depended not on outside forces, but something within herself. She knew who she was, what she liked, where she wanted to go. She owned her ideas and thoughts and all her actions moved in accordance to this plan. Her plan.
The others around her were the same. They still waved in recognition of the same body they thought they knew so well. They smiled a greeting, made small talk, laughed at jokes. Nothing had changed, really. But she felt fresh and brand new. She somehow wanted to explain to them that she wasn’t the same, but it was no use. They didn’t notice. It didn’t matter. Only she needed to know.
Outside, she scaled the mini-hills of her street, walking in step to the music coursing through her brain. She liked the exclusiveness of it. Nobody could hear the harmonies but her. She didn’t think how she looked to the curious neighbors peering at the curious girl in the street, singing and skipping to herself. But she didn’t care. Just kept marching to her own beat, happy and secure.
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