A boy called Maybe.

"She used to be quite the troublemaker when she was younger. You'd always see her laughing, playing with stones and mud, tripping while running and being proud of all the scratches she endured. It's a funny thing, this childhood. It's the time we experience life the most. But sadly it's the time of our life that's the foggiest. Faded memories and sounds, dream like people and faces and millions of stories; unfortunely they remain  to be just stories. 

Her kindergarten had a  uniform. A denim overall-pinafore with a red t-shirt inside. She seemed to love this daily outfit. Little did she know, when she'd grow up tshirts and denim jackets would occupy most of her closet space. 

She had just discovered drawing and wooden sticks that color. Her imagination would flow a hundred directions when the teacher would ask them to remove their coloring books and pencils.  Little did she know, this activity would continue to become her escape as she grew up. 

But out of all the details she's forgotten, there was one that always stayed. One day, as she scribbled all over her page, filling colors out of the boundary lines of the flower, she missed a rather adorable boy enter class. He was tall, taller than the rest of the 5 year olds. He stood diagonally ahead of her, one bench to the right. The class was full of noise and chaos, with kids chattering and laughing. She continued to concentrate, fading out all the noise as if it was just the title track to an epic dialogue. But then, the sound of pencils hitting the floor suddenly awoke her from her daze. Even if there were trumpets playing next to her ears, she wouldn't miss the sound of pencils. After all, they were her favourite thing in the world now. 

She looked up from her messy book and saw a boy she'd never seen in class before, kneeling and gathering all his pencils. She stood up, curious to know who he was and with an urge to help him. Mom always encouraged helping people, she remembered. She walked over to him and started assembling all the pencils in one place, then picking them up she stood above him, towering, feeling tall. And then he stood up making her feel small again. Her tiny neck craned, to see his face. He was bright. Fair as milk, tall and lean. His clothes neatly ironed and his hair combed just right. Not too nerdy, not too fun. She looked at him in awe, although at the tender age of five, she didn't know what awe was. He smiled as he took his pencils from her hands. She begins chewing her pinafore belt, a habit she'd picked up a few months ago. The belts were so chewed up that the were on the verge of tearing at the edges. He took her hand which held the belt and pulled it away from her mouth. She looked up at him with confusion. 

"You shouldn't chew that. Mom says your clothes collect dust and germs over the day, so if you chew that belt you'll get sick. " she remembered his advice, his voice, like it was a prophecy to never forget. Little did she know, she'd struggle to remember his voice as she grows up. 

She began to turn away and move to her seat, when he said "wait a minute!" 

She looked at him as he instantly took her wrist. Holding her palm he turned it upside down, with great ease and care. Slowly bending down he kissed the back of her hand and said "thank you for helping me pick my pencils." 

Her face turned red, she'd seen boys do this to girls they loved on tv shows that her mother watched everyday, a kiss to express some kind of affection that she didn't understand. She nodded shyly and took her seat. She glanced briefly at her teacher who was previously sat with her legs on the table and now watched them in shock. She deduced that the teacher had witnessed their puppy love and hid behind her sketch book, embarrassed. Her teacher smiled and continued working. 

Later that day she found out what his name was. She saw him often in class. The next interaction they had was when her lady finger costume(designed and hand made by her father since it was her favourite vegetable) for a fancy dress competition, tore from the back. Her teacher and the boy helped her fix it. 

Next she saw him was after the graduated from kindergarten and went to first grade. She saw him playing with some boys outside the lobby. By now there was a divide between the boys and the girls. They were supposed to hate each other . Be at war constantly. And so they never talked. That was the last she remembers of him. 

She never saw him again. 

Years have passed, but the memory hasn't. Like the lost, tore page of her favourite fairytale. "

This is an actual story. How do I know? Because  it's mine. 

It's a story I've only told a few. The thing is, I believe this story is a memory. 

I'll tell you the part that makes this cute childhood story scary. 

This boy, is lost. I never saw him after that day in first grade. When I grew older and told a few friends, no one remembered him. I checked class photographs but he wasn't there. I was sure he joined school late in the year and thus was never part of the class photograph which was taken earlier. But that doesn't explain all the other class pictures he was missing from. I asked the boys who played with him In 1st grade if they remembered him, they didn't. 

A friend told me that everything we remember as memories from before the age of 4-5 are not actually true. She read this somewhere. The study also noted that the part of the brain that stores long term memories isn't fully developed by this age and so it's impossible to remember anything from our childhood unless verbally told by a third person. Which is why all our childhood memories are such a haze. The little that you remember are images and connections the brain makes for you and presents as false memories. 

I don't know how much of this is true, but if it is, that would explain why this boy just vanished and has no prove of existence to be found. 

My best friend once suggested that after we pass out and graduate from our school, we should ask one of the office staff members to dig up the old student profiles and find him. If he was real and if he ever studied there, he would definitely be in the records. We never did it. I was too afraid to find out that he wasn't real. I was so taken by the boy that I'd told my family I would marry him. At  THE AGE OF FIVE.  Imagine a five year old Ankita talking about marrying a boy she'd talked to once in her life.  It's hard to believe , really. But if he wasn't real, how was he such an important part of my childhood stories? It's one of my most vivid memories. And to find out that he was a lie my brain cooked up, would be devastating. 

Not because I hoped to fall in love with him. But because this story has played in my head over and over again through the years. And it's brought a smile to my face each time. It's given me hope of maybe running into him someday and maybe years later realize it was him.  The him. 

This memory symbolizes a weird kind of hope and happiness. It's the first of all my firsts. How could I ever let it be anything less? 

I don't know why I wrote about this. It's been 12 years. It's still a puzzle and I guess it'll always be. I won't tell you his name, that would ruin the memory. Who knows, someone with the same name might misuse it. 

The thing about writing this memory down on the blog is that made me relate to a five year old Ankita so much, at the same time I see how different I've grown to be. 

Maybe I should play, fall and laugh more often. Maybe I should color out of the boundary lines more often. Maybe I should empathize with people without having to think 'why should I? What will I gain'. Maybe I shouldn't be afraid to ask for help when I need it and maybe I should stop being destructive to myself when I know it's gonna hurt bad. Maybe I should appreciate my parents more. 

There's so much to learn from your childhood, even if it may have been imaginary. 

P.S. If you're that boy and you're reading this, maybe reach out to me if you remember me. At least I'll get some proof that you exist. It's okay if you don't, but a double check wouldn't hurt right? 

If you do find this and reach out, I'll know it's you since the only thing I remember of you clearly is your name. I won't promise a devastatingly beautiful love affair, but it'll surely be something incredible to meet a memory. 

PSS: I never chewed belts again.