To K. A. C.

MacAvity's picture

Saturday was your birthday. I thought of you. I wondered how you were celebrating. I wondered where you were, what you looked like, whom you were with. I wondered whether you remembered me on my birthday. I wondered when was the last time you thought of me.

On your birthday, did you think, 'I'm seventeen! I can...' and dig up your old wand, the one I made for you all those years ago, and wave it around, secretly, casting spells in your mind? Or have you forgotten all that, have you forgotten that when we were eight years old we wanted nothing more than to be eleven and get our letters, the ones we knew would come?

On your birthday, did you have a party? Did you celebrate with your family alone? With your friends? With your boyfriend? Do you have a boyfriend? Have you ever kissed anyone? Did you turn out gay, like me?

I remember when we planned on living together, in Australia, when we grew up. We were going to marry each other's brothers, so we could be sisters-in-law. We were going to have our parents marry each other, so we could be stepsisters.

I remember when you turned to the Dark Side - lost interest in childish pastimes, became interested in appearances, in suggestive humor, in avoiding seeming weird or ignorant or foolish. I remember leaving you for those changes. What I don't remember is when everyone else changed. When I changed. When there was no one left clinging to the old ways, using eucalyptus buttons for currency and calling upon made-up gods with nonsense chanting. No one left talking to trees or warning the rest of the school about the dangers of the dark wizard among us.

I wonder how I would feel about you if I saw you now. Would I even be able to talk to you? What would I say? What would you?

Will we ever see each other again? Will we recognise each other if we do?

I don't remember ever crying for you; I'm sure you never did for me.

We never said goodbye.

Comments

625539's picture

I'm sorry to sort of intrude

I'm sorry to sort of intrude on this journal, but...

On your birthday, did you think, 'I'm seventeen! I can...' and dig up your old wand, the one I made for you all those years ago, and wave it around, secretly, casting spells in your mind? Or have you forgotten all that, have you forgotten that when we were eight years old we wanted nothing more than to be eleven and get our letters, the ones we knew would come?

This was actually me on my seventeenth birthday... When I was a kid, I used to play pretend with this kid who lives across from me, we had wands and everything, it was wonderful. He seems rather afraid of me now, for some reason... But Harry Potter is something that truly defined me as a kid.

/randomintrusion

nothing is permitted. everything is allowed.

MacAvity's picture

Yup. That's why I wrote all

Yup. That's why I wrote all that. That was me on my seventeenth birthday, too. Harry Potter defines all of us, I think, or close enough to all. It unifies our generation in an amazing way.

The 'intrusion' is more than welcome. Even if I write in apostrophe, I crave comments!