The lights
go down,
I’m eleven
once again,
and it turns out
time has
decided to be
my friend.
For five minutes,
late arrivals
flout unspoken
rules
of punctuality
and search
in vain
for seating.
When it starts,
it’s the same.
It’s also
different,
if I stop
to think
about it,
a thing I try
not to do
in this kind
of chair.
Then, it was
Tuesday,
the two of us
going
to a movie,
the way
we did
so often
in those days.
I came away
thinking
I knew the
plot,
mispronouncing
names,
forgetting half
the story.
Thirty-seven
viewings
would do
the trick.
Even today,
I can recite
the words
like pages pulled
out of my
own life story.
Now, it’s like
returning to
a place
I never left,
meeting friends
who’ve been away
growing older,
making mistakes.
Or was that me?
No matter.
Stories are
meant
to entertain,
nothing else.
If I decide
to make them
more than that,
it’s my choice.
This, though,
this kind
of thing
never happens
in real life,
does it?
Other than
today?
Never mind,
young Padawan.
All is well.
