So now. I'm 18.
An adult. A graduate of high school.
If I wanted to, I could swagger up to the counter of the nearest convenience store and say, "hit me with a pack of smokes: Marlboro Reds."
I'd confidently present to them my expired learner's permit.
Just 3 days past my 18th birthday.
I bet they'd laugh.
June 20th was my last legal day of adolescence.
James kept on reassuring me that I'm still a kid.
It's how you think, he said.
On the eve of my birthday, I conducted a ceremony.
I was outside, and I knew that midnight was only a few minutes away. The gentle movement of crickets and fireflies and warm air felt like a final lullaby. I rolled our yellow bicycle out from under the porch and pedaled to the top of the hill on my road. It felt strange to do. I couldn't see my own hands.
Once I reached the top, I turned the bicycle around and pushed off. I could barely feel the ground move under my feet as I rolled down the hill and back into my driveway.
For those few seconds, I'm almost sure I knew something that I didn't know before.
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