Asakiyume mita

Lauren Gray is the owner of a fictionalized life, the result of a decision she made on a day in 1973, after overhearing her mother and her nana talking about her nana’s diaries. “I’m discovering all sorts of things from your childhood and before that I simply don’t recall at all,” her nana was saying. “I’ve been reading them aloud to your father. ‘Do you remember being evacuated from a sinking ferry in 1936?’ I’ll ask him. Some things he remembers, others are news to him too. It’s almost like reading someone else’s diary.”

“You’ve had a more exciting life than you thought,” observed Lauren’s mother.

Lauren went upstairs, took her own diary out from her sock-and-underwear drawer, and began to read.

Today in art we worked on clay. Mine is very good. I hope I like it when we are done. Mr. Williams got mad at me for fooling around when we were meant to be working on our projects. After school the Browns came over.

Lauren sighed. It didn’t exactly set your heart racing.

Previous entry: Today in gym I ran. My time is awful. In language arts I wrote a report. After school I did my homework. When I was finished I played with Lisa.

Downright boring. When she got to be Nana’s age and reread her old diaries, what would there be to surprise and delight her? As things stood, nothing.

Lauren took a pencil from the milk-carton pencil holder she’d made in art last year and contemplated an entry for the day. She thought of the filmstrip they’d seen in social studies, “Krihisiwa: Child of the Amazon,” about a boy from the Yamomamo tribe in Brazil. She chewed on the eraser end of the pencil. At last she started to write.

We have a new kid in school. His name is Krihisiwa. He used to live in the Amazon rain forest.

She thought about the details of the filmstrip.

He told us that where he comes from, they eat grubs, she wrote. Everyone said that was gross but I told him I wouldn’t mind eating a grub. Lauren wrinkled her nose. That was not true, but maybe her future self would be impressed by her dietary adventurousness. She wrote on.

After school, he asked me if I wanted to learn how to shoot a big bow, like the kind they use where he’s from.

Lauren smiled to herself. She could see—could practically remember—Krihisiwa, could see the astonished faces of her classmates, could hear Krihisiwa’s voice. He’d have some kind of accent, but she’d be able to understand him. Her toes tingled and her cheeks felt warm.

She was going to have the most exciting life ever.