The Perfect Piece Of Memory

My eleven year old hand frantically swishes the mouse around
As the pixelated face of Harry Potter bobs around the computer screen
Both of us trying to remember the next spell
Both of us stuck in the surrealness of our perfect worlds.
10 points for Gryffindor, announces my stereo soundboxes.
I pause the game to tell my sister that I’ve made it through the “tough level”
And save the moment in my head as a perfect memory.

A dark skinny boy dressed in a superman costume
Stands at the edge of my bed
As his red cape defies gravity
I explain to him what to say whenever anyone enters the room.
This is going to be the best party in my life, I think to myself
Not knowing that would get accepted as a prayer.
All these years down, superman never visits anymore.
I hear he’s doing quite well
Coping with studies and incurable disorders that make him weak to the bones.
I wish I had kept his cape when he left
But all I have is a perfect memory.

I stand in front of my front row bench
Waiting for the next teacher to come.
At the other side of the classroom a guy sharpens a pencil
And just when it is sharp enough
He decides that it never was a pencil
But a rocket that deserves to tour the length of the classroom
And before I know
I have a pencil sized rocket Slashing my right cheek
Just missing the eye.
Just a little cut, the teacher says.
And now every time I look into the mirror and notice the tiny scar that not even my mother knows about
I smile at the irony
Of how perfect the memory is.

I stand on the concrete floor of the school field
My large eyed and perfectly ponytailed friend calls me over
A ritual is about to take place.
On the count of three, five fists bump against each other
And the field echoes back our unflinching oath
“Best friends forever.”
Forever.
And now every time I tell someone that forever is the most delusional word
I crunch my forehead skin
In a failed attempt at blocking the perfect memory.

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Taped Tennis Balls

A glimpse back. A minute.
Now that seemed infinite.
Two 8-year-olds
Across the playground courts.
They knew nothing better and nothing worse.
No unuttered grudges, no cold remorse,
No holding back thoughts, no repelling force.
“Will you play with me?”
“Of course.”

Never ending conversations
Illogical fascinations
Unrelated correlations
Misunderstood connotations
Games full of incarnations
Overhearing informations
Idiotic laughter sessions
Dead serious operations
Till they’re knocked right off all…sensations.

10 years across the timeline.

Now there’s a fine line
Between their playground courts,
Cut off by countries and ports.
They have their very own forts,
No TNT cords
Not even social networks
Can bear the weight of the distance, anymore.

A barely inhabited chatbox.
“Any exams going on?”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
“Thanks.”

They go to sleep hoping to dream of all the taped tennis balls they’d lost.
Among other lost things.

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