perfect

There is something so perfect about watching a group of 13-year olds socializing together. No, I’m not a pedophile. I’m an observer. I pride myself on taking note of the little things..the things we typically see in the corner of our eye or miss completely while blinking, all the while, trying to focus on the bigger and seemingly more important things in front of us.

Take Friday night for example..sitting in the upper mezzanine listening to the music of Death Cab for Cutie at Hammerstein ballroom. I should have been all engrossed by the soothing chords and spirals of electrifying music echoing from the sound system (and don’t me wrong fellow Death Cab fans..I didn’t miss a beat..), but even so, I couldn’t help feeling captive to the distraction of the bobbing heads and wiggling bodies of the cluster of young teenagers gripping their fingers onto the railing, one step closer to the stage. They cheered. They whispered. They girls held hands and took turns twirling one another; the boys sans growth spurts playfully shoved one another, occasionally glancing at the twirling females on their side…all the while the groups of teens radiated a pure happiness, warmth and innocent glow that seems to emanate from the magical age of 13. The age when secrets are not yet quite so scandalous but still seductively alluring..when the adventures and possibilities of a new school seem endless and most importantly, when the members of the opposite sex seem to have completed their vaccines and reenter the picture, cootie free.

I felt drawn to this group of happy and playful teenagers..their carefree and fantastical aura contagious..And that’s when it hit me. It hit me from up there in the upper rear mezzanine in a pool of concert smog, florescent lights and pretzel breath, sitting next to countless strangers and a band of 13 year olds clad in halter tops and Capri pants, backwards baseball caps and sports team jerseys. .I had been one of them too, embodying the same space, dangling my arms over the railing, mouthing along with every word to the Counting Crows playlist. Adam Duritz was my hero, and the stage, my playground..a vision of perfection, danger and imagination mixed together with a revelation of freedom and independence. I wasn’t alone either. My best friend stood next to me reflecting the same fervor in her brow and awe in her gaze.

And we danced.

Really badly I imagine..at least on my end..since everyone I know can probably attest to my total lack of body coordination and shameful void of rhythm..But, my point is that our erratic and amateur dance moves were irrelevant, superfluous. We threw our hands over our heads and swayed our bodies to the collection of sounds spinning around us. And it didn’t matter if we were the only ones dancing on our floor or the youngest kids in the crowd. All that mattered was the there and then..we were in the city on a school night watching our favorite band amidst cooler and older people guzzling beer. Noone needed to know we still had homework due for the next day and that my dad would be waiting outside for us in the car as soon as the doors opened.

It’s not to say that I miss being 13; that awkward age where grownups still feel untouchable and the future, light years away. But even still, as I eyed the bubbling faces and fidgeting bodies of the teenagers before me, I could not help but feel a tinge of nostalgia..the gawkiness of emerging puberty, the jittery energy, the all encompassing mystery. I just hope they realize how very lucky they are..how fragile innocence can be, how tender the relationships between friends (I should really write for Hallmark.) But, they won’t remember any of it. Why? Because.

Youth is wasted on the young.

No, I didn’t make that up..although the person who did is really quite astute..I read it on someone’s facebook profile but it seemed to fit quite well. The point is...they won’t treasure the magical age of 13 because they will be too busy clawing their way up the age hierarchy ladder. The fleeting beauty and perfection that youth allots to its constituents will disappear as quickly as it appears.

We are all too eager to grow up.