once was.

I ran into the little girl I once was last Wednesday. She's been turning up here and there all this year, usually at inconvenient times. I'm not going to describe her, because she's had enough trouble. Except to say she was a good reader at an early age, and a true believer that people are capable of love. She only assumed that eventually they would know how to love her, frog face and all. And each other. She has high hopes.

She's here now, and she doesn't want to talk about it, so I'm going to spare her. Flash to the woman I hate to admit that I actually am. Today and for years to come.

I complain about a job that isn't supposed to be my career, but is, if you count that it's the only thing I have seven years experience doing. Experience doesn't always make me perfect, but I get it done. "I don't want to," the little girl says. And I tell her nicely, "But dear, that's just what you have to do." I remind her, "This is just what you have to do so you can afford to have the things that allow you to do what you love."

The little girl becomes angry, and sometimes she makes a big raucous about it. She and my boss's little girl duke it out, and I have to rope her in before she loses my job for me. Ironically, my boss's little girl can still get me fired.

And I begin relationships that may or may not end abruptly, or die slowly, and the little girl says, "How come?"

"Because people change, and sometimes we don't change with them," I say.

"But what if I do everything right?" she asks.

And I tell her that I'm sorry, but that can never happen because sometimes we're going to have to fail, and that if we keep chasing the perfect version of ourselves we're going to be lying to everyone, including us. The little girl thinks that if she keeps her bad feelings under wraps, they'll have to stay. If she pretends not to mind when someone hurts her, they'll stay. And she thinks if she lets them see that she hurts enough, they won't leave.

"I'm feeling uncomfortable," she said just now.

And I'm saying don't worry, I'm going to take over from here. That I'm older, and while I can't make her feel better, I'm going to teach her how to be real. And that once I do, she's going to be in a place where she gets to play with her friends, and won't have any reasons to cry.

"I think I'll like that place," she says.

I'm not telling her yet that she can't stay here,or that we may not meet again, but I know she'll be happier when she's gone. I've allowed her to stay much too long, and while I've always kept her with me, I've come to a place where she doesn't belong. There are things I have to see through, and they're not for her eyes.

It's for her own good.