Thinking about 1994

My life is oddly wrapped up in 1994. Its the pivotal moment in my adolescence, a time where "me" was becoming less dependent on the decisions or influences of my parents but I was still too young to embrace the era as my own. I turned 12 in 1994. Started listening to modern rock instead of oldies and Broadway musicals. Tuned in to My So-Called Life, identifying with Angela Chase's angst even though I was still the childlike age of the character's kid sister Danielle. I threw flannels over midriff baring baby tees, sported chokers around my neck.

I've noticed that other girls my age look back wistfully at the 80s. "We are children of the 80s" they chime, recalling the days of neon and slap bracelets. But that decade had nothing to do with us. We were still in a sense dressed by our parents, given our Skip-its, our trapper keepers by adults. It is the early 90s that in some way begins to belong to us. If only slightly. This past fall when Urban Outfitters displayed a season of courderoy and flannel, I celebrated a little on the inside. Because this time, 1994 was fully mine to embrace.

Of course, my affinity to this particular moment in time may also have a lot to do with the fact that in the summer of 1994 my family packed up my childhood home on Greythorne and moved our lives to the neighboring town. My brother, the natural leader among his group of peers struggled with going from the most popular boy at Beechview Elementary, ready to enter the 5th grade as king of the playground, to a sudden and shocking nobody. I on the other hand was already a relative nobody. I had outgrown my neighborhood friends, those whom I had befriended years before because of their close proximity to my own home. Those girls who I spent my days up til age 12 who had never treated me well. Made fun of my shyness, picked on me as I grew awkwardly tall and remained preposterously skinny as they filled out. I was teased for not being normal to them. "Hey Emily, if you turn to the side, do you disappear?" they would taunt. Another would hold up the silver chain of a necklace, "Look Emily, its your long lost twin."

For years I would come home and grab a book while the other kids played. My mom would question my decision to stay home. "Mandy and Katie decided they don't want to play with me today." I never shed a tear, simply understood that this was just how things were with my friends. I was smart enough to know that it wasn't right however, and when my parents announced our move, I had little remorse about leaving them behind.

Years later I found myself in a small seminar class at university with one of these so-called childhood best friends. We smiled at each other in acknowledgment on the first day when role was called but we never spoke that semester. What was there to say? Did she know how poorly she treated me in youth, remember our friendship the same way I did? By the time I saw Ruth in that classroom I was a different person, a more accomplished and confident person. We didn't need to speak for that to be clear. It also helped that I was far better looking by then, having finally grown comfortably into my long limbs and learnt to tackle my mane of curls. Perhaps my smile had said that for me on the first day, "look at me and look at you, who's better now." Petty, I know but it felt good.