The Banta Blog

As he walked out of the automattic doors, the bright sun was glaring off of something to his left. He turned to see what it was, and saw a machine he hadn’t seen since he was a child. It was in rough shape, the red paint faded from years of exposure to the elements, but there was no mistaking what it was. The plastic capsules inside were a dead giveaway. He used to love feeding quarters to it and turning the dial in hopes of getting a miniature helmet for his favorite football team. Only this one was filled with all sorts of different toys. Remembering that he had some loose change in his pocket, he was instantly hit with the excitement of nostalgia. He pulled out a quarter, placed it in the metal coin slot and turned the dial. The mystery and suspense of what toy he would receive made him feel like that young kid again.

He saw the plastic capsules inside shift and heard one fall and hit the bottom. Giddy with anticipation, he opened the metal flap and grabbed the capsule. Opening it, he saw what he had gotten: a miniature blue BMX bike. It had an uncanny resemblance to the bike he used to have, and he started to play with it, “riding” around on top of the machine and along the windowsill of the store. But he was no longer a kid, and he had things to do that day, so after a few minutes, he took the bike in his hand and placed it in his left pocket. And then he felt a weird sensation and his vision started to blur and then went dark.

Suddenly, he was back in the small town that was as far away in his mind as it was in miles. He was sitting in a tree and he saw below a group of boys riding bikes. Squinting his eyes, he saw that bike he just put in his pocket, and on it was someone who looked oddly familiar. Was he looking at himself, only 20 years younger? And was he smiling and laughing? That couldn’t be right. This had to be a dream, he couldn’t imagine this could be a memory. Not one from his childhood, at least. Then he panned his gaze directly below him, and he saw the pile of dirt. In it was carved a big jump. The picture was starting to come back to him. 

A line of boys on bikes started racing towards the jump. One by one they came flying past him, launching into the air, nearly hitting the branch he was sitting on. And one by one, they came to a smooth landing on the other side of the dirt pile. He spotted his young self hanging back, and he recognized the look of fear in the boy’s eyes. It was a look he’d seen countless times in the mirror. He could hear the other boys chanting and urging him to go fast. He could do it, they said. It was going to be fine. The young boy started pedaling fast, too fast. It wasn’t long before he was flying through the air. If he reached down from the branch he was sitting on, he could have knocked his younger self off his bike. But this landing wasn’t so smooth, and soon he saw the boy tumbling over his handlebars.

The memory came flooding back to him. He was waiting to watch himself start to cry. He was waiting to see the blood gushing. He was waiting to see the embarrassment and failure on his little face, smile long gone, and to hear all the other boys laughing at him. And he saw the blood. He saw the tears. But where was the laughing? Why were the other boys still there, cheering for him and coming to help? And why could he still see a smile on his face? Was that a look of being proud of himself (and were the others proud of him too)? This wasn’t how he remembered this day in his mind. 

Soon the tears were gone (but the blood was still gushing). A new sound was in the air: laughter. Everyone was smiling, even his young self. Was that joy he sensed? It was! How could that be? He didn’t have any memories of joy. This must be an alternate universe. But he knew it wasn’t. And as soon as he started to connect with that memory of joy, he was back in front of that toy machine.

What had just happened to him? He wanted desperately to get back to that feeling of joy. He quickly put his hand back in his pocket and took out another quarter, placed it in the machine and turned the dial. Out came a little Lego man wearing a #1 jersey. Without even hardly looking at it, he shoved it in his pocket. And before he knew it he was back in his childhood bedroom, sitting on the top bunk. On the floor was a group of boys. In the middle, he saw his young self again, and across from him, his brother. Between them, a game he remembered fondly: Lego soccer.

He knew exactly where he was. This was the Lego soccer tournament. Sitting above the group, he felt a tinge of sadness. He wanted to go back to a joyful memory. He wanted that feeling again, a feeling he had been searching his whole life for. This wasn’t that memory, at least not the way he remembered it.

The boys below were cheering. The game looked intense. The ball flew back and forth. Both him and his brother were pulling back on the players and quickly flinging them into the ball. He saw himself score. And then score again. He saw a huge smile on his little face again. Was this the joy he was looking for? Did he misremember how this game went? And then he saw himself get scored on. And then again, and again, and again. This was more of what he remembered. He had collapsed. Before he knew it the game was over. First to five and he lost 5-2. This couldn’t be a happy memory. Why was he having to relive this?

He was waiting for laughs to come, at him. He was waiting to hear everyone make fun of him for losing the lead. He remembered feeling so embarrassed. All he wanted to do was beat his brother at something, anything, and this was his chance. And he blew it. Did he cry over this loss? He thought so. He always knew he couldn’t handle defeat. It made him feel like a failure, not good at anything or good enough for anyone to like him. Watching himself from above, he was waiting to see the tantrum come, and for everyone to leave him. That’s how it always went, he remembered. 

But none of that came. Instead, he saw his brother get up and congratulate him for a good game. They even shook hands. He saw his friends pat him on the back and say the same. And he saw everyone, including himself, smiling. And laughing about the tournament and the games. That smile on the little boy’s face was unmistakable: it was joy and happiness again. Oh, how much he wanted to capture this feeling and bottle it up. Why couldn’t he ever remember this feeling from his childhood? All he could remember and had held onto was the humiliation, the failure, the darkness. But that wasn’t what he was seeing now, looking down from that top bunk. He was seeing himself happy. He wanted to go back and be that little boy again, which was weird, because he’d spent so long running from that boy, in time and space.

And then before he knew it, he was back in front of that store, the magical toy machine still glistening, but now in the last light before dusk. Not ready to be done yet, he felt around in his pocket. He had one coin left. Hoping he could keep using that magic, he dropped the coin in, turned the dial and grabbed another plastic capsule. Inside this one was a green rubber stretchy man. Unsure of what memory this would bring up, but eager to get back that elation, he put the toy in his pocket.

Only this time, when he opened his eyes, he didn’t see himself. He didn’t see anyone. He wasn’t anywhere familiar to himself. It was dark. All he could see were orange and black walls all around him. He was in some kind of long hallway. He started walking, the low light casting long shadows at every corner. He came to a turn in the hall and noticed he had a few options. Was he in some kind of maze? He took a right turn and continued walking. Soon enough, he walked into a shadow and ran into a dead end. Suddenly, there was an ominous voice in his ear. It was a voice that made him shutter. He knew it. It was a voice he never thought he would have to hear again.

“Just remember, we were just playing a game. What we did was a game. Wasn’t it fun?” He knew it wasn’t fun. He had never heard of the game this voice was talking about, but he remembered what they did. It didn’t seem like a game to him. He hated it. He hated himself for playing it. But if the voice said it was a game, it must have been a game right? He turned away from the dead end and started sprinting back to where he made the turn, if only to get as far away from this voice as possible. But it followed him. “It was a game, remember that.”

When he got back to the hall he started in, he went left this time. Soon he came to another fork. He kept going straight, past another left turn. But again he came to a shadowy dead end. And the voice was back. “Isn’t it cool we have our own secrets? Secrets make use closer. Don’t you want to have a close friend to share secrets with?” He had always wanted close friends, especially older friends that made him feel big and grown up. And he wanted to be a boy who could be trusted to keep secrets. So he did. But he still wanted to get out of this maze, to get away from this voice.

He backtracked back to the turn he skipped, and when he got there he went right and took it. He was getting tired. He felt like he was carrying a giant kettlebell between his legs that was getting heavier with each dead end. As he reached another turn, he followed it. And then he came upon another fork: right or left. Knowing now that if he chose wrong he would have to hear that voice again, he sat down to contemplate which way to go. He went right. But it was a short hallway, and he hit exactly what he feared: another dead end.

“We’ll never play again if you tell anyone what we did. You’ll be dead to me.” He was starting to wonder whether he cared anymore. Maybe he wanted to be dead. The weight he was carrying was getting so, so heavy. He leaned against the wall and slowly started to collapse. Was he going to be trapped in here forever? Would this voice haunt him until he died? He was starting to feel that he should just give up. But he knew deep down that he wasn’t ready for that. He was starting to feel that this voice was never his friend to begin with, that none of this was his fault, but none of that would matter if he couldn’t get out of this maze.

So he stood up, and dragged himself back to the fork, and took the other path. And he walked, and kept walking… and kept walking. After what seemed like a marathon, he noticed a faint light. Was this the exit? But as he drew near, he saw that it was a giant green rubber stretchy man, the same one he had put in his pocket, and it was glowing brightly. There was nowhere else to turn, so he kept going towards it. Before long he was standing right next to it, the light illuminating his face. He felt a sense of relief, because he couldn’t hear that voice anymore. The figure had outstretched arms, inviting him in. It was warm near the figure, and it was shining so bright. He reached out his arm and touched it, feeling the warmth.

In a snap, he was out of the maze and back standing in front of the toy machine. It was dark outside now. It looked like the store had even closed, not a light in sight. Except for a small glow coming from his pocket. He reached in and pulled out the green rubber figure. He didn’t realize that the green was a glow-in-the-dark green. It was the only source of light around in the pitch black night, a break from the darkness. He squeezed it tightly and then placed it back in his pocket. As he turned to walk to his car, across the pitch black parking lot, he began to feel lighter with each step. For the first time in years, he noticed the trail of a distant star streaking across the sky. He made a wish, and he smiled to himself.