I Don't Remember Her Name

I don't remember her name.

But I remember the light as we ran down a rickety staircase and I remember the shapeshifting statues and how someone was the chosen one.

The assignment: A short story

About anything, my fourth grade teacher said. Anything.

And so mine was magical. Of course it was.

But even then, I think the magic gets away from me sometimes, because the words and the days kept coming and soon enough, the story had outrun the deadline. Our last day in the computer lab (a big deal at the time) had come and I was so far from finished that I'd already come to peace with having to stay inside for recess.

Around me the class is typing, except for the ones who aren’t and I like the sound the keys make but as stories come to an end around me, keyboards quiet and I am relieved when there are others made to stay, among them some of my friends.

We mess around because that's what children do, but they all finish eventually, and it is only me and my own clacking keyboard and if I think too hard about typing, I will only go slower.

The deadline is looking me straight in the face and I still can't reach it, can't catch all the words and tell them where to go.

Recess ends but I am not done. He makes me come back the next day.

When he checks on me, every once in a while, he asked ‘Are you getting close?’

And I wasn't but I said yes anyway.

And so we discovered dungeons and fought villains and saved the world together. I still cant remember her name.

After four recesses he took what I had and let me go.

I remember walking out of the library that day, surrounded by books, and it took me a while, to realize that I liked the words more than recess, anyway.