I am old. Not in comparison to the soil or all things wrinkled, but to me. To me, I am the oldest I have ever been. My belt of my years collected has never felt heavier. Pressure to pass across the line between childhood over to womanhood consumes my days. More and more responsibilities usher me forward, taunt me to pass over the line. However, I can’t say that I’m ready.

Today, I am sixteen. My coordination is just beginning to catch up to my long bones which had settled into full height by the age of twelve. Yet, I still wait patiently for the womanly figure that my female relatives’ bodies promise. My greatest life achievement thus far is passing my license test and successfully changing my hair color to a few shades lighter. I stay up too late on school nights watching Family Guy and I wear more clothes from my bedroom floor than from my closet. Life constantly leans over me, breathing reminders down my neck: be responsible, do your chores, follow a schedule, do your homework, pick a college, decide what you want to do with your life. You’re too old to not have everything planned out.

I ignore the reminder that life is coming for me and that my unplanned, childlike days are coming to a close. I continue my dance on the line of adulthood, closing my eyes when life looks me in the face. I occasionally waltz with the idea of what it would be like to grow up and I sometimes tango with responsibilities. But life grows impatient. Its reminder gets impatient with being ignored and builds to a roar that wakes me from my denial.

The dance is over and here I stand on the line.  

I dip my toes into the other side. I leave my teenage scattered schedule for a night and tiptoe across to the big scary world where my mother’s hand doesn’t await me. I toy with maturity and independence, even if just for a night.  

So there I stood on this important night. It was a rare night; I had actually brushed my hair and overpriced products that claimed to make me prettier were smeared across my eyes. A boy stood beside me, my fingers intertwined with his. He wore a collared shirt and the smell of a masculine soap tickled the air. We both had dressed for the occasion.

We were waiting on a platform. Just the two of us. Alone.

The tickets in my hand suggested the train we were waiting for would soon slide onto the tracks before us. The sun was burrowing behind the earth, casting orange light across the station. Denver loomed overhead, beckoning us to come closer. Its lights began to twinkle as daylight dispersed from the city.

Headlights appeared on the tracks. The citizens around us rustled the drowsiness from their business clothes as they stood from benches and gathered their briefcases and groceries to head home.  A tug on my hand as the boy leaves my side. My sneakers follow his. We boarded the light rail and picked an empty row of seats towards the back. A lone businessman had installed himself in the section in front of us. He wore a blank expression to match his blank suit. The tired skin around his mouth defied his attempt to remain emotionless as it sagged into a deep frown: a frown that sighed how tired it was of its humdrum life.

Is that what adulthood looks like?

Is it repeating the same dull day over and over? Is it responsibilities that turn into chains that tie you down? Is it reminiscing on the days of the “younger years” while riding the train home from work?

My young eyes stared. Too many times had I been told not to stare, but curiosity, a force calling across the line from my childhood took over. I took a mental picture of him and hid it towards the back of my mind to keep as a reminder of what I never want my adulthood to look like. I would never look that sad.  

A voice eventually pulled my eyes away, and they nestled into the comfort of staring at the boy beside me. The nerves of the night that lay ahead made the business man roll from my mind. The luscious hills that surrounded the start of our journey began to argue with concrete and shortly into the ride, the concrete won. Man-made dominated the nature. Asphalt grids and architecture covered the scene. Many buildings and bridges wore colorful sweaters made from various spray paints. People cluttered the streets as they bustled from place to place. Splashes of green waved from the cracks in the pavement as we raced by.

The city consumed the train and after a screeching halt, we were spat out into the big world.

A maze. That’s what loomed before us. Huge buildings towered above and streets disappeared around corners in every direction.

The boy smiled in my direction and gestured for me to follow. His wise eyes told me not to be intimidated by the tall buildings that made me feel so small. This boy of mine knew the city better than I did. He knew life better than I did. He had already made a comfortable home on the other side of the line; previous life events having prematurely sent him to live there. I look up to him. He isn’t afraid of many things.

I clung to his arm as he weaved us through the city. Pavement carried us, and I smiled as I settled into the feeling of being in a new place. We talked and laughed, and what was anxiety morphed into something better: happiness. I tilted my head back in attempt to see the tops of the buildings, but with no luck. The night carried us. It carried us through the aquarium, where we stared in wonder through a wall of glass at a world of swimming colors and creatures. It carried us to a restaurant, where we sat in a booth towards the back and paid in cash like true teenagers. It carried us deeper and deeper into the city. With every step I became more and more comfortable with wandering on this side of the line.   

Darkness enveloped the city. Streetlights gleamed down upon the two young adults strolling in a fog of feelings that could only be explained as love. Love for each other. Love for the city. Love for this crazy thing called life. Love for growing up.

I wasn’t afraid of it anymore, I realized on the ride on the train home where I sleepily leaned my head against him. There was no such thing as this line that I had hid from for so long. I hadn’t realized until that night that the separation between childhood and adulthood was not black and white, but grey. I am sixteen and yes I just recently got my license, I wear clothes from my floor, and I do watch too much Netflix at night, but I also did something new and intimidating by venturing into the city. I am not defined as either a child or an adult. I am just a person who is immature at times and mature at others. Venturing into the city was a step towards growing up and I realized that it isn’t all horror. When moving across the line to adulthood you don’t have to give it all up: go on adventures, meet a boy, ride a train, fall in love with life. Sure, eventually you have to become an adult, but life is not making you forget the joy to enter a life of routine. I will continue to dance on that line of adulthood for as long as I can, but I am no longer scared for what waits on the other side.