
It was 1988, the year Reagan left office and the Bush family began their presidential reign, gas was 91 cents a gallon, and the little girl from Poltergeist died. I didn't know any of that stuff. I was in Bumpus Mills, Tennessee, a town that hasn't changed much since 1988. Those kids around me are my cousins. I'm the third oldest in my generation, so I probably knew all of the cousins there that day by name, but as they multiplied I quit trying. They filled our tiny apartment with reenactments of The Terminator or whaling like Tarzan. Trapped in such a small space with my cousins, aunts, and uncles, the sound would swell. Sweaty heads and elbows swarmed me. Only my grandmother and I were still. Sometimes my dad would look at me and then his mom, once he said, “Mama, Sami reminds me of you, ya know her mannerism. Ya'll are always so calm and quiet”. I can remember thinking, “I'm not an old lady!” Now I realize my grandmother wasn't an old lady then, and he was right. We were dreamy, lost in thoughts and fantasy. Had I been given the chance, I bet I could have spent an entire day staring, thinking about what was going on around me or dreaming of places I'd never seen. My best friend in fifth grade said to boy who asked if I had a staring problem, “She always stares”. Kids in Bumpus Mills don't have themed parties or tables of presents. I had a Rainbow Brite cake, Smurf plates, and Garfield hats. My aunts and uncles brought pieces of the party. The girl behind me is Kristen, she's a year younger than me. She's a nurse now at the Stewart County Hospital, and married to her high school sweetheart. The boy in the hat is Beau, he does electrical work in Stewart County, and he has kids, but I don't know how many. They were having fun. They were playing, telling jokes, swinging off the arms of men and begging women for something new every chance they got. I was there, but the only reason I'm in the picture is because it was my birthday. The world was happening around me, and I was discovering different ways to talk to people. I was finding my own way. I've always wanted to be like them. I've spent days wishing I could tell jokes and climb trees and be content in Stewart County forever, but when I see myself trying so hard I realize the life I inherited doesn't suit me at all. Was that what my grandmother was talking about when she called my humor dry? In the hallways of WKU, I feel exactly the way I felt on the same day twenty one years ago, like life is happening all around me, and I'm watching, thinking, dreaming. I meandered through my life to end up in same place I started, chewing on my lip with my head down.
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