End of Beginning

Today, I went back home to visit with Cassidy for her birthday. We caught up and talked about the past, the present, and the future.

After we said our goodbyes, I decided to drive through the Hillcrest area in Little Rock to see what’s changed, as I always do when I come back home. I passed by my old apartment —the old, green, two-story rent-controlled building, one of the last of its kind—and started remembering who I was when I lived there.

I might’ve been going 10 mph down Kavanaugh Boulevard, as I pictured a 22-year-old Daija bouncing confidently down the street on her way to River City Coffee with a bag full of books, her journal, and her laptop. I could see her wearing an oversized graphic t-shirt, Levi jean shorts, and black Dr. Martens that were perfectly broken in and never blistered her feet. A smile spread on my face as I saw that Loblolly Ice Cream made its way on the bustling street. She wouldn’t have to go across town to get a sweet treat when she felt a little sad. To the right, a vinyl shop where I used to pop in and out of had patrons going in, and I pictured a younger Daija leaving with a couple of vintage records to display on top of her record player, so she could, of course, post on her Instagram later to seem cool and different.

As I kept driving, a small chuckle left my throat as I pictured her sitting across from a boy at The Pantry Crest. She’d be sitting there, laughing until her chest hurt, thinking he was going to be the one, because he was just as goofy and awkward as she was. I wish I could go in there and tell her to run for the hills, but knowing her, she wouldn’t listen. She’d experience her first real heartbreak and continue to let him back in until she was 26, even after all of it.

I decided to stop at River City Coffee to order my usual —an iced lavender white chocolate mocha latte with oat milk. As my eyes danced around the shop, I noticed all of the new art pieces that filled the walls. Small pieces, large pieces, all somehow beautifully misplaced. At the corner of my eye, I noticed a patron sitting in my usual spot in front of the biggest window in the coffee shop. She was a skinny black girl with books scattered all over the table as she wrote in her journal. Her head slightly bobbed as she put pen to paper, writing feverishly, and I wondered what she’d one day say to the world through her words.

I swear to you, I didn’t even realize how much I was reminiscing until I saw her, until a pang of jealousy came and went after the barista, whom I didn’t recognize, handed me my coffee and snapped me out of my daydream. As I went on my way, I was left confused as to why this visit was much different than the last. When I hopped back into my Jeep, I didn’t see Daija sitting outside Leo’s Greek Castle eating a gyro and fries, or her running down Kavanaugh. She was gone.

I realize now that I’m back in NWA, that maybe my resigning from the AGR program might’ve triggered it. Had I just not interviewed (truthfully, I didn’t think I was going to get the job), had I just said no, I would still be beepbopping down that street. I’d still be in my rent-controlled apartment, living in a whimsical bubble, sitting in that coffee shop that probably wouldn’t even feel the same now that I’m older. Still, I strangely resent a part of myself that left her. If I couldn’t have New York at 22, the Hillcrest area was the next best thing to me. It was the first place I didn’t feel trapped.

Before we jump to conclusions, I like this current version of myself. I love the friends I’ve made along the way, as well as the memories I’ve created and continue to create. Still, I think no matter how old I get, I will always grieve that version of me, walking down to the two neighborhood bars down the street with my friends on a Saturday night, buying all my groceries from Trader Joe’s, and the life Walter and I had when it was just the two of us (I love my Lilybanilly dearly and am grateful for her).

I think we all have versions of ourselves that we wish we could go back to. I think it’s important to look back and appreciate the person we were and what we went through, but it’s just as important not to get so caught up in the past that we feel crippled from moving forward and appreciating the person we are now. Everything truly happens for a reason.

Today, after three years, I finally waved goodbye to the end of beginning. I think 24-year-old Daija, leaving the Hillcrest area, would wave back.