Memories

I woke up thinking I was back on the farm, and opened my eyes half expecting to see the high, painted ceiling of my old bedroom. Instead, the low, whitewashed and dusty apartment ceiling greeted me, as it had for the past two years. Yet the thoughts were enough to revoke memories and send my imagination into overdrive. So I got out of bed and went over to the window, half expecting to see the beautiful green field below.

Of course, there wasn’t a blade of grass to be seen, only the gray, foggy procession of morning traffic. I sighed, and sat back down on the bed. Why had I been thinking of the old farm anyway? It had been two years since my family had moved to the East Coast for “an opportunity for a better education,” to quote my parents. The private school I went to here was full of AP and honor classes, educational extracurricular activities and all sorts of other things created solely to propel me, along with the rest of the high school population, towards Harvard and the other Ivy Leagues.

Sure, I had crammed more academic information into my head in these two years than I had ever learned in the thirteen that I had spent in Colorado. But there, I feel like I learned so much more. Who cares about finding derivatives and deviations or knowing what happens during salt hydrolysis? In Colorado, I learned things that were much more practical just by living: How to identify the edible berries, and how to pick out the sweetest ones. How to climb a tree, and take a nap high up in the branches without falling off. How to act around wild animals so that they trust you. 

Memories of those great times washed over me, and I lay back in bed with my eyes closed, thinking of the time I won a horse race, the time I saved the little kitten, the time I helped my dad rebuild the stable… Life in Colorado had been so much more peaceful, yet so much more exciting at the same time. There, in the summer, I could go out and run around the fields with my sheepdog, Snowball, or go out for a ride with my chestnut Canadian horse named Rooster. Here, all I can see are buildings and artificial lights. I don’t think I’ve heard complete silence since we’ve come here; there’s always some sort of traffic below the apartment. I don’t think I’ve seen a sunset or sunrise; there’s always a building or sign in the way. I don’t think I’ve seen the big dipper or any other constellation either; the lights all come on at night, and cloud the sky. I don’t think I’ve seen any wildlife other than pigeons; the middle of New York City is no place for an animal.

Everything absent in the city from the countryside, I miss. Nothing from the city I felt I lacked in the countryside. Life was so full of surprises back then. Here there are no surprises; it’s just the same thing every day. Wake up. School. Soccer. Guitar. Homework. Sleep. Even the school days are all the same: go to class, stare blankly, leave for the next one. The only class I enjoy at school is art, for in that class, I can always manage to find a way to incorporate my old life into the project. English is not bad either, especially when we get creative writing assignments. Unfortunately, everything else is a complete bore.

“Alice! What are you doing?!” My thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the shrill voice of my older sister yelling at me to hurry up and get ready for school. We were so different. We are only one year apart, and very close, but it had taken no time at all for Jessie to love the city. I took a deep breath and headed towards the bathroom. Time to start another day, just as I had yesterday, just as I will tomorrow, although I’d rather be in Colorado. I can’t wait until I’m done with school and old enough to move back.