The last time I got a haircut was July 29th, 2013, my fifteenth birthday. The color was orange, fading back from the firetruck red it had previously been. When they were done, I looked in the mirror and thought how great it must be to never grow up, I thought I looked like Peter Pan.
In most theatrical productions, Peter is played by a fifteen or sixteen year old girl. Ideally, they would cast a ten or eleven year old boy, but they are generally difficult to work with. Once they reach sixteen, they have "grown up," meaning their voices have dropped and they are roughly giraffe height, which doesn't carry with the theme of Neverland.
One year later, on my sixteenth birthday, I am beyond any doubt a girl, I am growing up, and the dream of running away to stay with fairies and mermaids seems farther away than ever. Yes, my room is still bright celery green, decorated with more fairies and The Beatles than anyone should ever have to imagine.
In years past, the days leading up to my birthday were exciting and fun and now? Now they were confusing and worrisome. I don't want to drive or get a job or be an upperclassman or be able to legally get a tattoo with parents consent.
If I can fly, you can guarantee I'm going to the second star to the left, straight on 'till morning. I want Neverland back.
I'm trying to be articulate, but lord knows how that's going.
