She rubs her eyes too much. She’s going to get wrinkles soon. And then she’ll look older than her older sisters because they always looked young even in their 30’s. She was an adult when she was just a child. She didn’t think she looked that mature but everyone else said so, and so she became it.
It’s really boring to be mature as a child. She looked at her peers and thought they were idiots. And she looked to adults and realized that most were idiots too. And they didn’t want to talk to her. The only people who cared to engage were librarian types, that smell of dust and too much Elizabeth Taylor’s White Diamonds. They thought she was cute, and smart, but laughed at her comments and patted her on the head like a lovable puppy.
She really hated being mature. Hated that her pre-frontal cortex developed before the age of 20. She wished she didn’t grasp the concept of long-term consequences. Maybe she would have laughed more, stayed up later, do some stupid things and grow up when she had to.
She wish she wasn’t so aware of her decision making process, that if she chose x, y would follow. And if she said, a, b would be inferred, and she didn’t want b, so she’d say c instead. But she really meant a, but she was too aware of society, impressions, ramifications, and too mature to say that they really didn’t matter.
Mature is responsibility. Responsibility is obligation. Obligation is forced. Force is resented.
She resented being mature and the crow’s feet that were soon to reveal themselves.
So she stop rubbing my eyes, and ate a bowl of rocky road ice-cream at midnight. With sprinkles and chocolate syrup, and bananas sliced too.
She woke the next morning with a bloated and achy stomach.
She knew better.