Thirty-Two Going on Seventeen

I spent the weekend in Woonsocket with the ‘rents, and it was an awful lot like spending a vacation with my teenage self. Staying with my parents, having to ask, ”Dad, can I borrow your car?” every time I wanted to leave the house, sleeping in the twin bed in my old bedroom.

Saturday morning, I was ready to go to the gym when my dad decided that at that exact moment he had to wash and wax the car. It was hard to argue with him, since, well, it’s his car. So I decided to go walking instead. As a teenager who was both without a car and constantly struggling with my weight, I walked everywhere. The CVS where I worked all through high school was right across the street from the church where I went to confirmation classes and taught CCD and volunteered at the summer carnival and hung out with the CYO (and yes, the Frank Zappa song was right). It’s about 4 miles round trip, and I could pretty much do that walk in my sleep.

So I set off, through the dead end where I learned to ride a bike, through the prep school where the rich kids went, through my elementary school, which looks EXACTLY the same, by the park where Diosa and I first sampled pot, by the yard where I let my friend dye my hair forest green (her mother wouldn’t let us do it in the house), by the house where one of my childhood best friends grew up. I had a nice little nostalgia fest. The best part, however, bar none, was a large orange sign. “Public Water Supply” it announced. No fishing, swimming boating… it went on and on. And this was what the sign was in front of. God, I love Woonsocket.