I admit it. Over the last 2 weekends I’ve done little but binge Veronica Mars. She’s the perfect embodiment of the early aughts, tiny and blonde and modeling my favorite outfits of the time- low rise jeans and low cut ribbed sweaters. Sarcastic and outwardly non-plussed.
She’s a metaphor for what I tried to be growing up, never looked beyond really. The end all be all of trying to find some position above my high school, if I couldn’t fit into it. Not everyone understood her but at least she could keep up (I couldn’t).
I didn’t realize the first two seasons were constructing not a bridge between my nostalgia and my present- but a pier. And as I ended season 3, unfulfilled and craving more, more teenage years more drama more cravings... I had to reckon with the aftermath.
Because beyond the first 3 seasons there are 1. A movie and 2. An 8 episode “season 4”. And those young teens, in each (2014/2019 release) are suddenly grown ups. And suddenly the low rise jeans are gone and the sweaters are gone and they’re wearing work wear and looking like... adults.
They don’t have that adorable impishness, arrogance of youth that grants them invincibility, and endless watchability. And I remind myself that I, too, see the beginnings of wrinkles when I look in the mirror.
The expansiveness of cellulite creeping down my thighs.
The sinewy build of a 30-something with muscles, missing the round glow of a younger fit woman.
Those magic days of cravings and adventures may still exist, but they are not as intriguing or attractive to others. Only in my and my circle’s promise to one another to stay faithful, to see the sparks of youth and ignore the impedance of time is there hope to preserve those feelings.
I am reliant on them to stay with me in this, to hold steady until we are 112 and Father Time marches us away while we recite from heart “We are 19. We are foolish enough to believe we are forever, and therefore we will worry about our vices tomorrow, the day that will never come.”