In Search of Lego Land
Fictionalized Memoir — A Short Story
This story is part myth, part dream. Names may or may not have been changed. It does not matter since memory is faint.
The story has been passed to me by a previous self. The documentation associated with it, is dubious at least. Brownish papers and pictograms. But they tell me, the story is worthy.
It was the time before the hormones. Before the time I was able to intuit women and what I presumed was their supernatural-like force, with the enigma they hide in their bellies, the places a man can only access with a kiss. Right before the earthquake. I was still playing with my Lego blocks, building worlds, oblivious to the exodus from childhood.
It was the time when childhood began to disappear from underneath my feet. As I became more aware of my parents’ bickering, I felt it was the end of my ideal fantasy of a happy household. The warmth of home was now gone. I was maybe eleven years old. Where would I find a place to rest my soul?
The Legos were the memories of the friends we didn’t have. Or did we?
A mixture of our alter egos. Always with Anglo names. We were Argentinian kids with no reason to call our characters Johnny or Tony or Cindy or Daisy. From which television shows did we learn their names?
