She had the front screen door open for the first time that year. As I walked past it on my way down the basement steps I felt the magnolia breeze waft in and swirl around my face. I should have been leaping for joy, Winter was done, spring was here, an Easter egg hunt would happen that weekend right around that old magnolia.
I told my mother I was sad and felt weird that things were changing again. She told me I was being silly, I loved Spring. I said I knew I loved Spring but I still felt all funny in my stomach about it. Part of me wanted the front door latched shut against the wind and the stuffiness of Winter. Spring didn't last long in the South anyway, soon the door would be latched shut again so that the air conditioning wouldn't escape into the 100% humidity. Such a fucked up thing to have ennui at that sapling age of eight. What a precocious, over-flowing with emotion little brat.
Why am I being so hard on my supposedly darling inner child lately? Am I beating myself up about wanting change again, trying to remember when change was one of the major spooks in my little life? What am I trying to work out?