Of Nostalgia & Pixie Dust

“Princess Pixie’s Pocket Pen Pal Pad,” I spat. “Bleh! That’s a mouthful.”

“One more time?” Rocket smirked from where they sat on my bed, the old fuchsia comforter clashing horribly with their bright orange running shorts (thrifted, as usual).

“No thanks,” I laughed, shaking my head. “I used to write the funniest shit in here. I bet there’s a poem for every single boy I had a crush on in elementary school.”

Rocket snorted. “Gracey and Jason, sittin’ in a tree…”

“That was middle school!” I protested, settling back into my spot on the carpet. “You never knew about Evan, he was… second grade? Before you were adopted.”

I ran my fingers over the sequined spine. The diary, a monstrosity comprised of pink glittering letters adorned with unicorns and castles, was the latest re-discovery in our hours of sorting.

Mom always claimed she would move to the city the second Rocket was off to college. Neither of us expected her to actually follow through with it. But there we were, the first day of October break, sifting through the mounds of toys, clothes, and trinkets that had accumulated in the 13 years we’d shared a room in the condo.

I tugged on the cover of the diary, hoping I’d left it unlocked, but the little plastic seal held.

“Damn,” I muttered, testing the numeric keypad, sure the little battery would be dead by now.

The sticky rubber buttons lit up with purple light, the diary emitting a faint tune. A tinny, nostalgic voice followed.

“Hey, BFF, Princess Pixie here! Come write me a letter!”

“Wait,” Rocket’s brow furrowed. “I swear I’ve heard that before.”

“Nah, I hid this so well when you moved in. It hasn’t seen the light of day since.”

Rocket set down the ratty playing cards they’d been shuffling and leaned over to get a better look at the cover.

“Unlock it!”

“How am I supposed to remember a combo I picked out when I was eight?”

“Try the home phone number or your birthday.”

I punched in a few different sequences, causing the light behind the buttons to turn red with every failed attempt.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, ready to throw the diary in the trash pile.

“Wait,” Rocket said, reaching over a pile of stuffed animals to grab their phone from the nightstand. “There’s gotta be a way you can reset your password. Kids forget shit all the time.”

Amused by their determination to unlock my deepest darkest second grade secrets, I moved a few books to the Goodwill pile while Rocket was busy Googling.

“Okay, I found a PDF of the instruction manual,” Rocket said, squinting at their phone. “It’s so blurry. So… it looks like there’s a little hole on the back of the plastic part, by the battery. Do you have a pin or something?”

They scanned the room, as if expecting a safety pin to leap out of the Hot Topic and PacSun rejects. Not entirely unlikely, to be fair.

“Just use an earring,” I suggested, handing the diary over.

Rocket rolled their eyes and fiddled with one of the many earrings dotting their lobes.

“Got it! Okay, so I just–”

The diary on their knees, they carefully poked the point of the earring on the buried reset button.

Glittering white light exploded from the diary, a great wind spilling over the pages and rushing in all directions.

“What the fuck!” I threw my arm up over my eyes, grimacing against the force of it.

“That’s a bad word!” a little voice chirped.

Uncovering my face, I blinked a few times as my vision swam back into focus.

My jaw dropped. “Rocket?”

“Huh?”

The kid sitting on my bed was decked in cargo shorts and a tie-dye t-shirt. They had jet black hair, longer than Rocket’s, but with the same frizz at the ends.

My mind raced, trying to put it together.

“Sorry… um, R– Roxie?”

They lit up with delight at the recognition.

“Yeah, that’s me! Who are you? Where’s the rocket?”

“I’m Gracey, Rocket’s sister.”

The kid looked puzzled. “What kind of a name is Rocket?”

I laughed, remembering asking the same question when Mom had first brought them home.

“They picked it themselves. I think it fits them. They’re funny, smart, and they like to run. They’re quick as a rocket.”

“I can go fast, too! Watch!”

The kid jumped off the bed and ran in place, arms pumping wildly.

“Woah!” I grinned, playing along. “You’re so speedy!”

“Yeah,” they returned my smile, flashing the gaps in their teeth. “I’m always the best at tag, no matter what house I’m staying at.”

Something pulled in my chest.

“Do you like the house you’re at now?”

The kid pulled a face. “No. There’s no one to play with and it smells like cat food. But the lady said a real mom is coming to pick me up soon!! I get to have a sister, she said. I bet I can beat her at tag.”

The kid began to flicker, like a light bulb going out.

I smiled. “Something tells me you will.”

In the space of another blink, the kid was gone, replaced by a college freshman in vintage running shorts.

“Woah. Déjà vu,” Rocket said, squeezing their eyes shut as if fighting off a head rush.

I brushed a tear from my cheek before they could notice. It didn’t work.

“Man, I didn’t want to read about your second grade boyfriends that bad. No big deal it didn’t open.”

“No, it’s fine,” I laughed, taking the diary back with a shaky exhale. “Just reminds me of– simpler times.”

“Yeah,” Rocket looked over the mess of our room. “Mom’s really putting us through it with this one, huh.”

“Mhm,” I agreed. “At least we don’t have to do it alone.”

----------------------------------------------

For all the siblings, but especially mine.