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12/19/09

Fingerprints


We used to have one of these. It was amazing - a big and glossy presence in the living room. So shiny, practically begging to be licked. It was elegant and dignified in the best way - without pretension. The tiniest touch to the lacquer would leave a smudge, emphasizing even more its perfection. I was 16 when we had to sell it. My mom asked me if I wanted it, but I was just embarking on the first of many years of dorm-hopping and subsequent collegiate/nomadic living. Alas, it fit neither into my suitcase nor my mental framework.

It would now.

My suitcase is much bigger.

At 16, 5 years forward seems nearly impossible. An infeasible amount of time - real in some type of logic that one doesn't quite possess yet, and so it simply falls into the ether of the 16-year-old brain.

Now, 5 years forward seems remarkably soon. I know for certain that in 5 years I will not be able to believe that 5 years have passed; I will feel simultaneously old and wise and foolish and young; and I will have a lot of laundry that I should get around to doing.

***

Perhaps one day, I will find another one of these, and I will fingerprint its face, play Debussy on its keys, lie quietly beneath its chamber and feel small.

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