Puzzle Pieces; Memoir

            The short sixteen years that I have lived have provided me with countless memories and experiences that have been messily glued together to create the artistic, outgoing, curious person that I am. Each memory is like an edge piece to an impossibly large puzzle. The outline of my puzzle is filled with happy memories, sad memories, and completely wild memories that mix together create an extraordinary, flavorful foundation for the rest of my life. These pieces have taken me through every nook and cranny of coastal, Saco, Maine; the place I grew up, the place I call home. With my high school graduation approaching in just a few short months, I am laying down the last few edge pieces to my intricate puzzle and preparing to fill in the center with exciting new memories that will lead me through the rest of my life.

            Tomorrow will start like any other day. I wake up to a freezing cold bedroom, plagued by the harsh temperatures of winter in Maine. I roll over to stare out my window into the deep woods like I have done every morning before today, disappointed that the trees are not draped in a new blanket of snow, meaning that I actually have to go to yet another boring day of school. I stare out into the woods just a little longer, observing each tree like it is a memory itself. From cross country skiing, pretending to be top secret spies, and playing manhunt with friends I outgrew, to swinging higher than the heavens on the swing set my dad built, climbing trees taller than the roof, or building the world’s greatest tree house, the woods has provided me with many puzzle pieces.

            I eat my breakfast as my family rushes around me, the normal chaos of morning at the Courtney house. When I finish I feed my crusts to my lazy, Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, who is lounging on the heated floor in front of the oven, the same spot my beloved Jasmine cardiac arrested while I was home alone, twelve years old. That was the last time I ever saw her.

            On the short drive to school I pass numerous landmarks, filled with infinite memories, all collected into puzzle pieces to add to my big picture.

My street is where I learned how to ride a bike without training wheels. It was July 20^th, 2003, and it was very hot. I had been trying to stay up on the bike all day despite all of my falls that resulted in cuts and bruises on my elbows and knees. My pregnant mother was spotting me in case I fell off, but I was starting to get the hang of it. Finally, I took off down the street and was flying! I was so proud, and I guess my mother was too because then her water broke and my sister was born later that evening.

The field is where I learned how to fly a kite. We waited for so long for the perfectly windy day to come along. My mom helped me assemble the kite into a colorful butterfly. She stood on one end and held the kite above her head while I stood on the other end with the string and took off running when she yelled. As I ran with the wind in my hair and the kite trailing behind me, I so wished I could fly so I could join the kite in the sky.

The state park is where I ride my bike or run every evening in the summertime. It is so peaceful to be all alone in the woods, with a warm breeze rustling the overgrown leaves that create a canopy above me, completely blocking out the sky. I cherish this little sliver of alone time. I take this opportunity to think about my life, stay in tune with nature, and avoid all social interactions.

The beach is where I grew up. Collecting sea glass with mom, building sand castles with Will, playing fetch with Milo, taking pictures with Lizzy, or just staring out into the ocean all alone, mesmerized by its vastness and beauty. I have always lived within walking distance of the ocean and I can’t imagine life any other way. When I am miles away from the ocean I get a sense of claustrophobia, I need the ocean there in my life to feel free.

The library is where I found my love of books and reading. When life gets too hard I always turn to the alternate universes in books where everything always works out in the end. I have a shelf in my room of worn books that I read over and over again. These books give me a sense of place in this world. They have taught me how to laugh, how to cry, how to feel pain, and how to fix everything. My books are like friends who will never turn their back on me, I leave my trust with them, and in return they give me wisdom.

I arrive at Thornton Academy and wait in the warmth of my truck, listening to classic rock love songs because they remind me of my father. I collect my thoughts and mentally prepare myself for the rest of the day. School is a like a social experiment charged up to the extreme. I would rather not put myself in the same building as hundreds of people my age who have nothing in common with me, except for a select few who I have recently discovered as my new friends. High school does not come easy to everyone and for me; I struggled to find my real friends. After some failed attempts, and many friends turned acquaintances, I finally found a group that I feel at home with and who will accept me for everything I am. I couldn’t ask for better friends to finish high school with and I wish them the best as we all part our separate ways next year.

Thornton Academy has always been a place for me to grow. I have basically spent half of my life walking these hallways. I attended day care, church, middle school, and high school here, it has truly been central to my education. Even though I would much rather be off and running with my life, instead of sitting through hours of the basic core classes, I am thankful that this school has always been here for me and has given me the opportunities to flourish and discover my talents. When I was younger my church burnt down and while it was being rebuilt our services were held at TA. I used to have an elephant toy named Ellie that I would bring to church to keep me company. After my uncle, Carl drowned in Sebago Lake we were sitting in the atrium and praying for him. I was supposed to be praying too, but I was much more interested in my elephant. I don’t think anyone saw, or they just felt bad so they decided not to say anything.    

After my long, daily routine of avoiding people in the hallways, working hard in all my classes, making small talk at lunch, and stressing out about how much homework I have, I get to go to my favorite part of the day; rehearsal for the musical. This is the part of the day where I really get to be myself and let my personality flourish through my singing, dancing, and acting. When I was a junior we did Cats the musical and it changed my life forever. I met a whole new group of people who are now my best friends, I had never had such a big role so I had to challenge myself to get it all right, and I improved so much with my performance quality because being a cat is a lot harder than you’d think. Performing has always been like a drug to me, taking up a huge part of my puzzle. It makes me so happy to get up on stage and pour my heart into a performance, that I just want everyone to get to feel that way about something.

After rehearsal I make a long trek up to Falmouth to my second home, Maine State Ballet. I started dancing when I was four years old. Ever since then I have never stopped and I know that until the day I die, I will never stop dancing. Ballet is the one place where I always fit in and feel welcome. When you are doing something you love with people who are interested in all the same things you are, you create bonds that will last a lifetime.

On my way back home, Getting off the highway at the Saco exit fills me with a sense of warmth. I am back in the safe confines of my hometown. I hardly see another car as I make my way through the coastal roads back to my house. It looks like a ghost town with all the boarded up business and hotels, awaiting next summer’s tourists who consider my home their second home and don’t realize that people live here year round. Sometimes I have to wait for the train to go by, the same train you can hear from my bedroom at night. The same train that my sister, Alie, used to tell me was a ghost train. This train kept me up late at night, paralyzed in fear of the ghosts that haunted the train that ran so close to my house.

I cross the bridge that leads me over the mouth of the river. In the summertime, if it is low tide, the whole area smells like farts. I can picture Ally and I digging for clams in the wet sand, or floating down the river in inflatable tubes. I can also picture the boy that drowned when we were in the fifth grade. I don’t remember his name, but I remember the helicopters that circled around, looking for his body for weeks, giving us no hope that he had survived.

I arrive home with my pockets full of new pieces that I have collected all day to add to my puzzle. I settle into bed and let the warmth of the blankets go deep into my bones, to cure me from the unbearable cold of my room. I am glad to be home after such a long day. I cherish moments like these where I get to relax at home in the privacy of my room. All of our days on this planet are numbered, and I know I will be moving on soon to start my real life and find my place. When I leave I will bring three things; a soft blanket, my smile, and my collection of edge pieces so that I will always have some guidelines about filling in the rest of the puzzle. Whether I complete my puzzle in six months, or in eighty years, I will make the most of it and fit each piece together with a positive attitude and a craving to go find my next piece.