I'm carefully trying to stay clear of those things...

Last night, during a late jaunt for hot cider at my favourite neighbourhood coffee shop (love me the Tango Palace), I stood at the counter covered with delicious baked things (and really, some of nicest brownies ever), and that marvelous scent of coffee, tea and socialism.

As I waited for my mug of steamed apple deliciousness, I was listening to the music. Usually they play a wonderful mix of old jazz and assorted eclectic styles, but last night they were playing a live version of Depeche Mode's "Somebody."

Now bear with me for a sec, but once upon a time, I was a teenaged girl.
I wore black. I liked outrageous music that didn't include Bon Jovi and Rick Astley (sorry, Tali a.k.a. Missus Rick). I even (now don't gasp) had my ears pierced several times.

And for a brief moment, that song in the coffee shop swooped me back -- just for the merest glimpse -- of gangly outcast/wallflower me at 13 years old. Angry, miserable and very lonely. Listening to that song and feeling so incredibly ugly and gawky.

And so very helpless. Sitting on my bed and hating myself. Realizing that I would never be the sort of girl that guys would think, "She's cute." Never asked to dance. Never asked for a phone number.

Then a magic poof -- and I was back in the coffee shop.

And I found a connection with that girl that I'd thought I'd lost and left behind. There was no way to go back and tell her it was OK. Or that she was surprisingly perceptive and that she would have many years of being "the funny girl with the hot friends" ahead. But that it wouldn't really matter.

Because somehow, she would still have a life of her own.

But I had been ignoring that girl. Refusing to bring her back into my consciousness -- afraid she would undo years of finely-honed defensivess. I think I need to let her come back.

No one else will get to meet her, of course. But she has things to say, and I owe her a long-overdue conversation.