In the twists of memory, in the subtleties of the past

Keep my eyes closed, immersed in a vast sea of darkness. My head, still heavy, forces me to try to react somehow. It's like I'm in the middle of a hurricane; I go from side to side, and when I think I've finally found a way out, I'm back in the center of this storm. Either way, everything in me feels confused, now even more so by the "place" where I find myself.

I don't feel where I am, nor how I am; I just know that everything around me is calm and serene. I ponder for a moment if I'm still at college. I force my body and my brain to "wake up", because I don't know if I'm asleep. In an act of pure adrenaline, I wake up, and unlike what I imagined, I'm not where I was before. It seems to be a room, strangely familiar; I wonder if someone brought me home, but I realize I'm not at home. Nothing looks like the room in my apartment, the one I'm used to. It has a childish theme, blue wallpaper with what seem to be anchors. Some white furniture and others in light blue.

I'm still a little lost, my mind is disoriented and very, very heavy, as if I had one of those severe migraines. Besides my head feeling strange, I feel my body different, as if I've lost all senses, or as if they've been anesthetized in some way.

I sit up, still not understanding anything. I look around once again, trying to understand where I am, I look at everything; at the big white wardrobe with blue details and some teddy bears on the door; at the completely blue dresser; at a small desk and a chair that accompanies it, also in blue. The only thing I know is that I'm in a child's room.

My eyes are still a little stuck due to sleep, so I run my hands over them. Once again, something strange, my hands, which are abnormally small; I wonder if it's not a result of my disconnection — I'll adopt this word to define what I've been through because I still don't know what happened —.

After clearing my eyes, I try to look at where I'm lying; it's a very small bed. How did I fit here? — I think immediately — I remove the blanket that was covering me, and to my surprise, I'm wearing white pajamas, with some animals drawn in yellow. Once again, everything is BIZARRELY strange. But something scares me even more, my arms, torso, and legs are like those of a child.

I feel my heart race, a small wave of fear runs through my entire body. I'm in a dream, this will pass... — I repeat this several times —. I close my eyes with immense force, trying to "wake up". What seem to be a few minutes pass, and when I open my eyes again, I'm still where I am — I seriously think I'm in one of those "supernatural delusions". Where closing my eyes was enough to bring me back to reality —. I try to remain calm because, whatever happened to me, or wherever I am, calmness will be necessary.

I stand up beside the bed, and for a split second, I feel my legs give way beneath me, as if I've never walked before or I'm learning to walk anew. I find support at the bedside table, as I don't have enough strength to stand on my own or to return to bed. I kneel on the floor with my legs bent while I continue to lean. After a few minutes, I attempt to rise again; it's painful. I feel my bones, nerves, and ligaments protesting; it's an almost excruciating pain.

First, my foot manages to find purchase on the carpeted floor — which, by the way, is old and worn — then, I stay crouched until my leg and thighs can support me. Soon after that, I find myself standing again. I'm afraid to walk because I don't know what lies ahead; if I fall again, this time, I might end up completely on the ground.

I take a deep breath and take the first step; it's once again very strange as I feel my whole-body trembling. I take another step, and again the tremor returns; I feel myself swaying from side to side like a rag doll. After the second step, the fear suddenly dissipates.

The subsequent steps are steadier; this time, I manage to walk as I used to, but still, I feel a slight instability that could hit me at any moment. I continue with my slow and deliberate steps; before I know it, I've moved away from the bedside where I was previously standing. Walking a bit further, I reach two doors, one on the left and one on the right. I decide to open the one on the left and I am greeted by a bathroom; I'm surprised, which makes me doubt my sanity.

The sink and toilet in the bathroom are much higher than me. Once again, I start to think I'm in one of my "supernatural illusions". I can't see myself in the mirror because my head only just clears the sink; I decide to look for something to help me see. I search the bathroom from side to side for something that could serve as a stool, but I find nothing. I return to the room and come across what seems to be a chest, I try to pick it up, but its weight prevents me; I open it to see what's inside, and I come across an assortment of toys: Miniature cars; remote-control cars; wooden tops; chessboards and pieces; some cloth dolls, others plastic, and so on.

I decide to empty it, as there's nothing else that can serve as a stool for me to reach the mirror. I toss the various toys from side to side, without caring which way they go, I'm impressed by their quantity. Then, I push the now-empty chest straight to the bathroom, and its weight, which was unbearable before, still feels heavy. Somehow, I didn't have enough strength to carry or push it, but still, I did. Arriving in the bathroom, completely devoid of strength, I position it in front of the sink and climb up.

I'm shocked to see myself in the mirror... I look like a child; I don't know how old I am. Everything is different: My face, my torso, my arms, everything... — hence my difficulty in standing; my brain didn't remember what it was like to have child's legs. The little strength I had was consistent with my age —.

Unlike the previous four times I immersed myself in memories, this time it's different. In the earlier instances, it was my adult body in the memories; it was 21-year-old me living through that. But now, it's different; the air, the sensations, everything is more vivid than before. For a moment, I feel a wave of great fatigue wash over me, but not so strong as to immobilize me, rather in a mild way, as if my current situation doesn't scare me as much, or as if the mood swings aren't as severe.

I sit on the toilet trying to think of what I can do. After some time sitting there, the surroundings start to become familiar. The child-themed bathroom isn't strange to me; the plastic shower stall with animal drawings also triggers a vague memory; the chest positioned in front of the sink also reminds me of something.

I return to the room where I was lying and begin to take in everything around me: the furniture, the bed, the blanket, the toys strewn on the floor, the pajamas I'm wearing, and especially the blue wallpaper with anchors... I'M IN DOWNCITY. Everything starts to spin and whirl around, I feel a bit dizzy and overwhelmed, but soon I regain my composure. I don't know what's worse: being trapped in a memory, or being trapped in a memory in Downcity — if it could be another memory or another place, it would be much better —.

After a while, I hear heavy footsteps coming up the stairs followed by a light knock on my bedroom door. After that, I hear a sweet and peaceful voice:

— 'DD', time to wake up...

For a moment, I hesitate to recognize whose voice it is; it's not unfamiliar to me. Soon after, the door opens slowly, revealing the one who called me. It was my mother, and to my surprise, she appeared as she was years ago: her radiant expression and her long smile fill the room and me.

As she enters the room, her expression quickly changes, showing some doubt. She speaks:

— Are you up already?

After that, she comes towards me, crouching down to my level, and envelops me in her arms, giving me a long, tight hug. As she does this, I can't react at all. My arms remain still, I have no response to what's happening. The last time I saw her, I was taller than her by about 11 inches, and her hug was cold, not warm like it is now.

After the hug, she looks directly into my eyes and says:

— What are you doing up at this hour? You usually take forever to get up. And what's with all these toys strewn on the floor?

Once again, I have no reaction, I just stand there stunned, looking at her.

She speaks again:

— Hey, little one, cat got your tongue?

I have a strong urge to cry, but I hold back. It was her... it was her... only her... my mother... My real mother...

She speaks again:

— Is everything alright, 'DD'? Are you feeling unwell?

For a moment, I feel like I won't be able to respond, but soon the words come to my mouth:

— I'm okay.

After saying this, I realize that my voice is extremely high-pitched and childlike. I didn't remember what it was like, and once again, this whole situation scares me. How am I immersed in a memory with so much detail — of that I'm sure. I didn't time-travel and end up here, it's a memory, just that, a memory —, yet I don't even remember what my voice sounded like as a child?!

Unbeknownst to me, I show a worried expression. My mother notices and speaks:

— Are you really okay?

I reply:

— Yes, I just got a little scared.

— Scared of what?

— Nothing.

—What do you mean, nothing? If you got scared, there must be a reason. You can tell mommy — her gaze was so sweet that I wished never to leave this exact moment. I wonder when my mother stopped being like this, so kind and caring —.

— I think I had a nightmare.

— Oh, my love, it's all okay now, it was all just a nightmare. You're here now. I'm here, and nothing will hurt you.

This time, I don't say anything, I just return the hug warmly. As I hug her, I don't feel the passage of time. I just want to stay there forever. After a while, she kisses me on the cheek and says:

— I need to go downstairs to finish breakfast. Are you ready for your first day of school? — FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL? WHAT DO YOU MEAN? AM I GOING TO HAVE TO GO THROUGH ALL THIS AGAIN? PLEASE, LET ME WAKE UP AS A 21-YEAR-OLD ALMOST GRADUATE —

With an expression that doesn't hide my internal panic, I reply:

— But is it today already?

— Yes, my love, or did you forget already? Yesterday you were all excited about your new backpack and notebooks.

— Oh, right. I forgot — I respond with an expression still showing panic —.

— Now mommy will go downstairs. You get ready, put on your uniform, grab your backpack, and come down for breakfast. Okay?

— Okay, mom.

— Just because you're going to school now, you're going to stop calling me mommy?! — she gives me a smile and a teasing expression —.

— I'm sorry, mommy. It's just because I forgot about school.

— It's okay, my love. Did you have a good vacation, didn't you? I know you'll miss them. But at school, you'll make friends and have a lot of fun.

— I know, mommy.

— Now I have to go, 'DD'. I'll see you down there.

— Okay, mommy.

She leaves the room. After that, only one thing occurs to me: I'll have to go through the first day of school again. I start to think that I'm not reliving a memory, but rather a nightmare. I sit on the bed still observing the whole environment around me and my body; my extremely small feet, my tiny hands, my small body — I had forgotten how small I was as a child —.

I lay my head back on the pillow trying to fall asleep again, in an attempt to wake up from this, but nothing happens; sleep doesn't come, and the only thing I want is just to go back to Loftheaven, to my old apartment, and watch Mr. Skyle's face every day.

After a while of having a serious mental debate about where I am and why I'm here, I become aware of something: I met Levi on the first day of school. I get up from bed hastily; I remember few things from the first day of school, and if there's one thing I remember, it's Levi.

My room doesn't have a clock, so I can't tell what time it is. I decide to get ready, as my mother asked. I pile up the toys scattered around the room in a corner to be able to move around. Now, the only thing out of place is the chest that serves as a bench for me to see myself in the mirror, I just decide to leave it there.

I go straight to the shower, taking a bath that wakes me up completely. The water is warm, but somehow the idea of cold water on me today doesn't sit well — my adult self likes cold water, but my current self recoils at the idea —. As I shower, some things come to mind: About not liking cold water; how I hate washing my hair — my adult self likes it, but the present me doesn't —; the neighbor Kristen Jones who lived next door when I was a child must still be here.

Gradually everything starts to become more concise and real to me. What surprises me the most is the fact that all of this is created by my mind.

I finish showering and go straight to the sink to brush my teeth; I climb onto the chest, and once again I have a view of my 'child self'. I begin to notice some details on my face, like the fact that I have numerous freckles — time took one of my features —, and my hair is cut perfectly in a "bowl" shape.

I grab the toothbrush and notice that it's shaped like a dinosaur — it seems to be a green t-rex —. As I hold it, I reflect on how everything in childhood is simpler and lighter. I feel lucky to be able to live — or rather, relive — such a carefree and colorful childhood. The world and life seemed easier back then, without that excruciating weight on the shoulders.

I finish brushing my teeth and return to my room. I try to remember what my mother had asked me to do: 1. Get ready — done —. 2. Wear the uniform. I go straight to my wardrobe and there it is, perfectly ironed and hung on the hanger. I manage to reach it, put on the uniform and, to my surprise, I didn't remember what it looked like, but my mind somehow retained all its characteristics. It consists of three pieces: A light blue blazer, a white long-sleeved shirt, and light brown trousers.

I put on all the pieces of the uniform, and notice an item that I hadn't noticed before, a green tie with some white stripes on the bed — who in their right mind makes children wear ties?! — I pick it up and put it on; somehow I can easily put it on — I'm not used to wearing formal clothes or ties as an adult. The only time I had to wear one was for a job interview at Devon's office —. Then, I look for the shoes I'll have to wear. I look in the wardrobe, but I can't find them, I search through all the drawers in the chest of drawers, but to no avail. I search every corner of the room until a voice whispers in my mind: "Under the bed".

I decide to look to see if this "voice" was correct and, to my surprise, there they were; the pair of black shoes very, very shiny, I quickly put them on. I'm ready — I think —.

On top of the dresser was a backpack, very simple and not very childish. It was light brown, with silver details. Its material seems to be a very thick fabric. But its size was ideal for my age. I grab the backpack and promptly leave the room.

Walking through the hallway outside, I notice how old the house was. The last time I came to Downcity — I mean, for real, not in memory — for my grandfather's funeral, the house was very new, with new furniture, decoration, and paint. I go down the stairs and can hear the creaks with every step I take.

When I reach the ground floor, I hear crying, I can only think of two people who can cry like that: Theo and Lysa. But Theo and Lysa haven't been born yet — it quickly occurs to me —. I walk a little until I reach the kitchen and the crying intensifies even more.

The source of the crying comes from a boy who appears to be about 4 years old, with long yellow hair. He is sitting in a high chair, while my mother tries to get him to eat a fruit salad. It takes me a moment to understand who he is, but I soon realize it's Aaron.

He was very small, appeared to be about 4 years old, and just like he was as a child, very fussy. As I enter the kitchen more, I notice a rather frail figure, also with long blonde hair, sitting slouched at the table. I sit in a chair in front of this still unknown person, who is immersed in what seems to be a handheld video game. I delve further into his face, noticing it's full of pimples and a few sparse hairs that form a possible mustache. I realize who it is, Sean, apparently a teenager.

I observe everything around as if it's all new to me until I find a calendar behind the chair where Aaron is sitting. At the top of it, I can see the following year: 2009. For a moment, I am amazed by the fact that I have "time-traveled" 15 years. On the calendar, you can also see the day and the month, which date: August 3rd.

I pay attention to Aaron crying because he's only 4 years old on this date. The appearance of Sean also starts to make sense to me; he's in his 14-year-old teenage version.

So, if it's 2009, Sean is 14 years old, Aaron is 4 years old, then... I am 6 years old... What scares me the most about this whole situation is the level of detail my mind managed to retain — perhaps, that's why I have chronic mood swings; because my brain stores abnormal levels of information and keeps them somewhere deep in my mind —.

I notice that Aaron's loud crying has stopped, and I see that he's now sucking on a baby bottle in his mouth. My mother, who was previously trying to calm him down, now puts a plate with two pancakes with syrup and a small piece of butter in front of me and says:

— You look adorable, my baby. How did you manage to put on the tie?

For a moment, I am mesmerized by the pancakes in front of me. They're so shiny, and the aroma they exude draws me in. It takes me a moment to respond to her:

— I was practicing, mom... I mean, mommy!

— You look lovely, 'DD'. Sean just needs to put on his uniform — she directs her words to Sean, who I now notice is fiercely devouring a bowl of cereal —.

Sean, still with his mouth full, replies:

— I'll get dressed soon, mom. Relax — I notice fluctuations in Sean's voice, typical of a teenager; going from high to low tones quickly —.

Sean looks in my direction and addresses me:

— You're looking like a real man in that uniform, 'DD' — his tone was playful. I noticed a sense of pride in him regarding me —.

As he spoke, I devoured a pancake — surprises are imminent every second, because, besides the smell, the taste is very real; the texture; the sweet flavor of the syrup; the butter. Everything is so vivid —. After chewing and swallowing, I respond:

— This uniform is tight.

— That's how it is. I went through everything you're going to go through. You'll get used to it soon.

— Are you going to high school?

— I am. I'm officially an adult now.

— Being an adult isn't cool, 'Sea'.

— What did you call me? — his tone was one of doubt —

— 'Sea'. Isn't that your nickname, 'Sea'?

— No one has ever called me that — for a moment, doubt circles my head, when did everyone start calling Sean 'Sea'? —.

— I'm sorry, Sean. I didn't mean to offend.

— It's okay, 'DD'. I liked 'Sea'. You can call me that now — his expression showed serenity, apparently, he liked his new nickname —.

Sean stands up abruptly, pushes the chair back into place, positions himself towards the stairs, and speaks loudly so that my mother can hear:

— Dear mom, I'm going to get ready.

After that, he quickly runs upstairs. All I can hear are his quick and strong steps on the stairs and the floor above.

My mother responds to him in a very loud tone:

— Hurry up. Your dad is about to come pick you up.

I don't remember where my dad worked in 2009, but he wasn't home. It was very early; whatever he was doing, he left home before dawn.

I continue eating my pancakes while my mother puts a glass of orange juice next to me; after that, she kisses me on the head and goes towards Aaron, who is sleeping in his chair. My mother takes him out of there, holds him in her arms, and slowly goes upstairs.

After finishing the first pancake, I drink some of the wonderfully cold orange juice. When I finish quenching my thirst, the second pancake that remains seems to be too much for me because I'm already full.

After I finish eating, I gaze around at the whole scene. Everything was so calm and peaceful. I feel like I could spend eternity in this exact moment of this day. After a few minutes of sitting, I hear the front door opening, bringing with it long and strong steps. Then, suddenly, a tall figure appears in the kitchen, dressed in a black suit jacket and a red tie, with his blonde hair perfectly combed to the left side.

When this figure enters the kitchen, I quickly recognize who it is, Morpheus Starstrock, better known as my father. I feel everything passing slowly; the movements are slow, my hands are slow... He walks in front of me, looks in my direction, making no noise, heads towards the fridge, grabs something from it, then quickly ascends the stairs. The only thing that crosses my mind is: He has always been the same person.

After a few minutes, my mother, my father, and Sean come down the stairs. Sean now wears the high school uniform, which consists only of burgundy pants and a white shirt with a school crest. I notice my father putting his arms around Sean's shoulders as they walk towards the kitchen.

My mother quickly speaks to my father:

— Are you going back to the office after dropping off Sean at school?

He replies:

— Yes, I need to finish sorting out paperwork with John. Once I'm done, I'll come back home.

— Okay. Later, I'll go to your parents' house. I want to talk to your mother — then it comes to my mind that my grandmother Joane and my grandfather Charles still live here in Downcity. So, I still have the opportunity to see my grandfather —.

My father turns to Sean, who I now notice reciprocates his gesture with a long hug that envelops my father's entire torso:

— Ready to go, buddy? It's time.

Sean replies:

— Yeah.

My father walks towards my mother, gives her a kiss, and says:

— Bye, sweetheart.

She responds:

— Goodbye — her expression exudes total affection —.

After that, my father and Sean leave towards the door; I can hear the noise of the door opening, the car doors slamming, and the engine starting. Soon after, the sound of the car fades into the distance.

My mother then approaches me and says:

— Finished your breakfast, 'DD'?

I reply:

— Yes, mommy.

— That's good, my love.

She collects the plate, cutlery, and glasses and continues:

— Since you're ready, let's go outside to wait for the bus.

— Mommy.

— Yes?

— Why can't I go to school by car with Sean and dad?

— Sean's classes start earlier, and the bus that takes him passes very early; you know how your brother is, very lazy — she lets out a light-hearted laugh —.

After a few minutes, she and I walk to the door. Outside, I notice that the houses around me haven't changed at all since the last time I saw them "in the future". I wait on the sidewalk with my mother; I can feel the gentle morning breeze on my face, the chirping of birds echoing through all the trees around. While we're waiting, my mother bends down to my height and says:

— Whatever happens to you. Whatever you need, ask the teacher to call me. Okay?

I reply:

— Okay, mommy.

— Love you, 'DD'. Look how big and handsome you are. You're already going to your first day of school at the little school.

In a totally natural act, I give her a long and tight hug, which is reciprocated with the same intensity.

When we let go, I can see a yellow bus coming towards us in the distance. Meanwhile, the noise of shouting and what seems to be a fight approaches us. It's the neighbors from the house next door, a woman with very reddish hair — noticeably artificial — and a child. I quickly remember who they are: Kristen Jones and her son, Carl Jones, who was two years older than me.

The Jones family was our neighbor in Downcity for 5 years. As far back as I can remember, I recall them. Kristen was a single mother and had an alcohol addiction; Carl's father abandoned them when his mother was still pregnant. She had various partners, some of whom were substance abusers. Arguments and fights in their house were routine. Carl was a very problematic and aggressive child; I remember the many times we played, and he abruptly had fits of rage and tried to attack me.

As I initially remembered Kristen Jones, it was because of her son, as I was very afraid of him. Besides being an aggressive child as a neighbor, he was one of the bullies who intimidated me at school.

They walk a few meters until they reach where my mother and I are. I can see a mix of sadness and anger on Carl's face, while his mother wipes her own face. She approaches us and says:

— Good morning, Dorothy. Good morning, little boy.

My mother responds while I remain silent:

— Good morning, Kristen.

Kristen speaks to Carl, who looks sullen:

— Say hi, Carl.

He replies with what seems like a tearful voice:

— No. I don't want to go to school.

Kristen grips his arm forcefully, pulls him closer, and says:

— Don't give me a hard time. Do you understand me?!

She releases him and with an awkward smile says to my mother:

— These kids, they sometimes get on our nerves, right?!

My mother doesn't respond, just keeps a neutral expression.

After that, Kristen heads towards her house, leaving Carl with us, and shouts in our direction:

— Dorothy, put him on the bus for me, please.

Before my mother can say anything, Kristen has already entered her house.

After a few seconds, the bus stops in front of us, and the door opens; Carl rushes in, clearly angry. My mother squats down again and gives me a quick hug. I board the bus and head inside. I sit in the first seat I see and from the window, I can see my mother waving to me; I can read her lips as she says:

I-L-O-V-E-Y-O-U.

I respond with a long, affectionate smile — I miss my mother like this; caring, loving... —. The bus starts moving, and I watch as the scenery of the street where I live fades away as it travels its route.

After a few minutes on the bus, I find myself again in the square that leads to both the elementary and high schools. I notice the large flow of students going back and forth, of varying ages, from 5 to 18 years old. The younger ones head to the school on the left, and the older ones to the one on the right.

The bus parks, and quickly a bunch of other kids rush down the aisle towards the door; I stay seated until everything calms down a bit for me to get off. Outside, I feel the still gentle breeze on my face. I walk a bit to the crosswalk, where there's a traffic guard ensuring the safety of all the children who need to cross. The guard signals, and I and about 40 other children cross the street safely; along the way, I try to see if I can spot Mr. and Mrs. LineMoon or Levi, but I don't find them.

As I walk a few meters into the school entrance, I'm already inside. It's all very noisy and chaotic. For a moment, I feel lost, unsure of which classroom to go to; by the clock on the high part of the school ceiling, it's 8:15 AM. As far as I remember, classes start around 8:30 AM. As I walk a bit through the hallways, avoiding being crushed by the older and taller students, I don't find any signs indicating which classroom is mine. I crouch down next to a locker and open my backpack hoping to find something that can guide me. Luckily, there it is, a paper with the schedules of all classes and their respective rooms. In the corner of my backpack, I find a small padlock with a key and a number written on it: 85. I presume it's for my locker.

I'm next to locker number 14. I follow my instincts and start walking again through the corridors, looking from locker to locker to find mine. I walk about 65 ft along the crowded corridor, barely able to make my way through. After a bit more walking, I find myself back at the initial corridor where I was, so I decide to go upstairs to the second floor. Once on the upper floor, I'm surprised to find even more lockers. As I enter the corridor that leads to an infinity of other lockers, I see the following sequence: 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, and finally, 85.

Before heading towards it, I notice a not-so-strange figure at locker number 86. It was a boy with light brown hair with a unique detail about his hair, a blonde streak. I don't approach until I'm sure who it is. He turns slightly to the side, and I recognize him: Levi LineMoon; it's him, in the flesh. I avoid making eye contact, just keeping my gaze down. After some time, he moves away from where he was, walks to the end of the corridor, and enters a classroom. I go straight to my locker, retrieve the padlock from my bag, and lock it.

According to the class schedule, my first class is Art in room number 103. Luckily, room number 103 is on the same floor where I am, and even better, close to my locker.

I head towards the classroom, which is already full of students. Some with happy faces, others with teary eyes, others bouncing around restlessly; all sorts of types. I sit in a chair and hear the school bell ring. At that moment, an unexpected phenomenon occurs: the sound, which was short and quick, turns into a torment that invades my mind, scrambling my senses. I can only see the surroundings distorting and turning entirely black and white. I can't feel my hands, nor my fingers; everything is without touch or consistency. After what feels like hours, I hear the bell ring again, and everything around me normalizes. All the students who were seated before now rush towards the door like a herd of elephants.

I feel very disoriented with this situation; it takes me a while to process everything that happened. I remain seated in the chair in the same position I arrived. The teacher, who was organizing something at her desk, comes over to me and says:

— My dear, don't you have other classes to attend?

I look at her with a puzzled expression and reply:

— But the class hasn't even started.

— My dear, the class is already over. All your classmates have already left.

I look around and realize I'm the only one still in the room.

— Alright, I'm leaving now.

I hastily get up and head towards the door. Outside, I still feel numb, without much control over my senses. I open my bag and take out the schedule, which indicates only one more class, in room number 23. I remember that room 23 is on the lower floor, but before going there, I decide to go to the room where Levi entered, it's not far from mine, in a few meters I'm already in front of it. On its door, it reads: "Spanish Classes", followed by a Spanish flag. I realize that this floor is for complementary disciplines, such as art; Spanish; French; cooking; ballet, etc.

I head towards the stairs that lead to the lower floor, now downstairs I look for the doors with the number "23". I walk along the corridor, still a bit busy, looking from door to door until I find it. It takes me a while to find the door, but I do.

Entering the room, I notice that not all the students have arrived. Unlike the art class, the chairs here are for two people; I sit in a row in the center of the room and wait until the class starts. Time passes and more children arrive. I keep my eye on the door until that figure I thought was Levi arrives.

Time passes, and the students stop arriving, the bell rings, and the teacher starts the class. This time, the sound of the bell doesn't affect me like last time. I take out the notebook and pencil case from my backpack and place them on the table — I can't believe I'm reliving the school days —. After a few minutes, I hear the door open, and a tiny figure with brown hair with a single blonde streak enters the room. His posture is that of someone wary and afraid. I notice that he's looking for somewhere to sit, most places are taken, his gaze goes from one side of the room to the other until he finds me and the empty desk next to me. He comes towards me, stands next to the desk, and says:

— Can I sit with you? — his voice is very, very high-pitched, and I can detect gentleness in his speech —.

Tears fill my eyes, and I can barely respond:

— Y-yes, you can.

— Thank you.

He sits next to me, takes out a notebook and a teddy bear pencil case from his navy blue backpack, and places them on the table.

For a moment, neither of us speaks, just watching the teacher speak. After some time, he turns to me and says:

— Hi, I'm Levi. Nice to meet you — the same cordiality as the only Levi I know —.

I reply:

— Hi, I'm Daany. Nice to meet you too.

We shake hands. There's a brief silence on both sides for a moment until he turns to me and says:

— Can I call you 'Dan'?

I feel my heart beat faster and in the back of my mind, I hear several "beep" sounds echoing over and over again. It takes me a while to respond:

— Y-yes, you can.

— Cool then, we're going to be great friends — he smiles broadly —.

Once again, everything that happened in art class comes back. I can't feel my arms and legs, everything around me becomes blurry and colorless. It all lasts about 5 seconds, and then I snap back to reality, hearing a voice calling me:

— Dan... Dan... — Levi is poking me while calling my name almost incessantly —

Somewhat dazed, I respond:

— Hi.

— Are you okay?

— Y-yes, I am — I wasn't, but I didn't know how to explain the whole situation —.

— Aren't you coming for a snack?

— Is it already snack time?

— Yes, everyone has already left the room — I look around, and there's no one here except Levi and me —.

— Oh, okay. Let's go then.

I get up and head towards the door, but Levi warns me:

— Aren't you taking your lunchbox?

— I'm not hungry.

— Alright then. If you get hungry later, I'll share my snack with you.

— Thank you — I let out a smile indicating, "how happy I am that you're here today" —.

The two of us walk side by side until we reach the cafeteria, which is now crowded with children screaming and crying everywhere. Levi and I find a table with two empty seats in a corner, and we quickly sit down. Levi takes out a sandwich and an apple juice from his lunchbox.

After taking a bite of his sandwich, still with his mouth full, he asks me:

— What's your full name?

I reply:

— Daany Starstrock.

— Starstrock like 'Star'?

— Uh, I guess so.

— Cool — his expression shows surprise and satisfaction —. How old are you?

— 21... 6 years old — I take a moment to process things —.

— 21 and 6 years old? — he looks doubtful —

— I misspoke, I'm 6 years old.

— I could tell you're 6 years old, you're like a garden gnome — he chuckles playfully at me, and I return the smile —.

— And you, how old are you?

— I'm also 6 years old.

— What's your full name?

— Levi Arthur LineMoon; Arthur because of King Arthur — he looks proud as he says it —.

We chat for several minutes until the bell indicates the end of recess, and once again, everything happens: the scenery around me, the colors, the sounds, the touch. When I regain consciousness, I'm on the bus heading home. Time passes quickly, and soon I'm back home.

I get off the bus along with Carl Jones, who abruptly pushes me almost into the street. On the other side of the sidewalk, I notice my mother waiting patiently. When she sees me, she opens a wide smile.

I walk towards her and give her a tight hug. She starts talking right away:

— How was your first day of school? Did you enjoy it? Did you make friends?

— It was good, Mommy — in reality, the day lasted only a few minutes for me —. I liked it, everything was good. I made a friend, his name is Levi — I don't know why, but my tone of voice and excitement came out very naturally and spontaneously —.

— That's great, my love.

The two of us walk towards the entrance of the house. Inside, I can hear some laughter and loud noises from a cartoon. I enter the living room, and "baby Aaron" is dancing and laughing in front of the television. As he notices my presence, he quickly runs towards me, gives me a big hug, and then goes back to dancing.

My mother takes my backpack off my back and says:

— I've prepared a nice warm bath for you in your room. Take a bath and come downstairs for a snack.

I reply:

— Okay, Mommy — I've gotten used to calling my mother "Mommy" —.

I quickly climb the stairs, and for some reason, the idea of ​​this bath completely captivates me.

I arrive in the bathroom and immediately step into the bathtub; the water is at the perfect temperature. I could easily live here. I notice that there are some toys scattered across the surface of the water, like rubber duckies, toy boats, and some action figures. I gaze hypnotically at a yellow duckling floating back and forth in the bathtub.

I feel my eyesgetting heavy and my body softening as if it were a giant jelly...