.parachutes.

Today I remembered those parachutes they used to give us when I was very young. A huge multicoloured circle with handles all around, one for each child. Having my luck, I always got stuck between two taller people, so that when I threw up my hands, both grasping a fabric handle, my arms felt as if they were being pulled out of their sockets.

I'd jump
I'd stretch
I'd wish for just another inch

Maybe if I was able to pull up the giant semi-orb with ease, I would have had the courage to be one of the brave children who ran under the parachute to another side before the fabric would come down again.

The last time I played that game, I was tall enough---
to lift the handles at least.

But come to find out, I was too tall to run under the parachute without getting the synthetic material caught around myself---or at least thats what I figured. To this day, I have never run under a parachute. I was so afraid of not being able to do it, to risk the laughter of the other children, to suffocate, to not feel good enough if I failed.

Now, I am older... a decade or more older since I last played with the parachutes.
And I would still probably be too afraid.

They were mentioned today in a passing conversation, and I all I remembered was hot good the sun felt on my skin, and how inviting the grass seemed, and how deep of a blue the sky was.

I guess you're expecting some kind of a moral to this story, but I don't have one for you. I mean, if you're willing to offer one, go ahead, or what you think I'm hoping to get out of writing this. I would actually appreciate it.
I think the most I could say is that I'm still afraid of suffocating.
I'm still afraid of being laughed at.
I'm still afraid of being not good enough.
I think everyone is, sometimes...

I just wish I wasn't afraid anymore.
I wish I could do just fine on my own---& not need everyone else's approval.
This past year I found Rocko. And Kevin. And Amanda. And Mindi
I met Megan when I was closer to my parachuting age.
I'm not afraid with you.

I hate being alone.
Its like the stretch in your muscles when someone pulls you too hard by your arms.
Its an ache.
For some reason this place reeks of being alone.
Maybe its the horrible first semester which gave me that feeling.
Maybe its the semi-new dorm room.
Maybe its how my phone never rings now.
Not like when I'm back home.
Here, I'm not needed.
I need to be needed.
Or something.
I'm going to bed.