The gym was on the first door to left when I entered the back of Washington Elementary, where the school bus dropped us off every week day. I had at least 15 minutes before class began. The doors were closed, but only the equipment room was locked. With no windows, it was completely dark. With a pocketful of “glow in the dark” superballs I had collected from the Herberger’s basement bubble gum machine (after my last dentist appointment with Dr. Blanchard, I wasn’t allowed any more gum) I entered the abyss. 

I can’t say why I needed the transition, but I did. Just a moment to myself before getting swept away in the whirlwind of fifth grade, and fellow fifth graders. I would start with just one. Throw it as high and hard as I could. It was like a firefly in the dark. Bouncing against the wall. Then I added in another. And it was fireworks. And then a handful and I was dancing in the stars. Little balls of light all around me. Exciting and comforting — just as I imagined magic could be, was, is still today. 

I have a string of lights in the bathroom upstairs. I suppose I added them many Christmases ago, but I never took them down. It shines a comfort down the hall. Little balls of starlight that say the magic lives on. 

I learned the usual things in school, but so much more. What darkness can’t I survive, with this never ending pocket of light?