A Poem for Andi Carter

Mrs. M received this most amazing free verse “ballad” written by a Long Time Fan, and I wanted to share it with you all! Enjoy!

I was very young when I met you–
Just a bit older than you at the time.
Then I grew, and you grew with me.
You taught me to write.

You showed me the dangers of my temper
(For in that, you and I were the same)
And taught me what it meant
To love my enemies.

With every story, I adored you more.
I pretended to be you as a youngster–
Dressed up in overalls and boots
And did my hair in braids.
(I still wear plaid and gingham shirts
Because of you.)

I straddled the arm of the couch
Clinging to the dog’s leash
And fancied myself a real horsewoman.
I dreamed of such for years–
Always saving up for a horse,
But never knowing how I might get one.

I pleaded for months as a 10-year-old,
Waiting and hoping for those weathered-looking books
To appear under the Christmas tree.
(The morning they did
Was undoubtably the grandest I had ever awoken to.)

I read and re-read them all,
Terrified and overjoyed and angered right along with you–
I half-lived in your world.

Then life struck.
I began to grow up-
Though the prospect terrified me-
And I no longer had the time for books.
I tasted bitter reality for the first time,
And knew that my horseish hopes were in vain.

I moved on,
Into that terrifying stage of life
Where one is neither child nor adult,
Feeling out of place on both sides.
The paperbacks that I had read so many times,
Draped over the back of a chair
Or hunched on its seat,
Were placed on the shelf,
Out of reach of grubby fingers
And free game for dust to gather on.

I still loved them,
But I had outgrown them.
Then, as adulthood approached
With terrifying speed–
You slipped back into my life
In the form of a birthday present:
Six books,
Their spines coloured like the tiny paperbacks I had first met you in.

For a long time, I left them on the shelf.
I had closed many chapters in my life,
But this one had covered such a vast time
And been so dear to me
That I would not willingly end it so soon.

Then, one evening
In worn-out resignation and curiosity,
I picked up the first book–
Bound in my favourite shade of golden-yellow–
And, opening it, found you fourteen
And myself once again young.
I devoured the rest of the books over the next week.
You grew up with each volume and
I found a part of me grew up with you.
I was no longer an overgrown child,
Teetering on the edge of maturity, but never crossing the line–
No, I was a young woman now.

Perhaps, had I read the final books earlier,
I would have feared adulthood less–
But all the same, I am grateful that they crossed my path when they did.
Finding you, my childhood companion,
Grown to womanhood and yet still unsure
Eased some of my insecurities in being flawed.
I have always heard it, but at last I believe
That in life, you never really arrive–
You constantly learn things,
Constantly overestimate yourself,
Constantly find yourself inadequate.
But if you could push through,
And keep moving through the mistakes,
Then I suppose I can as well.

~ by a Long Time Fan