Douglass Luo

The first time I hesitantly entered that dark room,

it was full of so many mysteries, so many unexplored areas. 

One bright light standing out in that melancholic room

was the GameCube lying in front of the TV. 

With the purple and the black controllers lying nearby,

we were drawn like flies to honey. 

A struggle ensued with the inevitable happening --

one of us sitting on the side,

watching and crying, envying and hating,

while the other two raced their virtual go-carts. 

A year later,

the room seemed well lit,

and it seemed to invite us in with its familiarity. 

When the authoritative voice of the parents

dictated us to go to sleep,

we always pretended to snore, closed our eyes and waited

until the footsteps from upstairs faded.   

Battering at each other with pillows and fake swords

we silently cried out in laughter. 

The chaotic free-for-all ended only when suspicious parents

awoken by careless screams,

told us to sleep. 

Lying on the floor as sixth graders,

eyes staring up at the ceiling,

we whispered to each other in the dark,

having our first mature conversation. 

Confessions came out

about life, girls, secrets. 

We lay there awkwardly talking about crushes,

giggling at the honest truths,

smiling in the darkness

at the newfound confidants. 

Entering through the doors again as cocky eighth graders,

we were ready to take on the world. 

Long hair concealing our eyes and faces,

pimples dotting our faces,

guitars strapped onto our backs,

we strutted in like we were kings. 

Loud music boomed from our amps,

awakening sleeping parents and siblings. 

Ignoring their orders, then pleas,

we continued to rock out on our instruments,

like anyone could tell us what to do.