In my early years at primary school, I was one of those few kids in the classroom who spent the breaktime mostly on her own. It wasn’t that I didn’t have friends, but I preferred being on my own daydreaming and writing stories in my notebook than participating in the games others were playing. At the time, I was also going through a lazy phase of my life, so my desk was messy, cluttered with my belongings. Each breaktime, in the noisy classroom, I was found happily sitting at my messy desk, going on an imaginary adventure as I scribbled words in my notebook.
Once in a while, somebody would come visit me at my desk, asking me what I was doing. Then I would stop writing and have a little chat with them. And when they left to continue with their activity, I also resumed my imaginary adventure.
Other than the daydreaming habit and the messy desk, one more particular thing about me from that time was that I was very into different kinds of colour pens. I carried quite a few colour pens that my father had bought at 100-yen shop (a Japanese version of a dollar store), and I liked trying them in my notebook during the classes. One of the pens was a yellow gel pen. This pen had an extremely sticky gel. Once, I had a little cut on my finger, and when I put the gel on it, it glued the two sides together, closing the wound.
“What a discovery!”
I got excited and told about my discovery to the boy who sat next to me.
“Look, this pen has the power to heal a wound like this. Amazing, right?” Then I quickly added. “But I must say, it’s not medically recommended!”
Later that day, during the breaktime, I was immersed in my adventure story as usual when I received a visit from the boy and his friend.
“Do you have that pen which you said isn’t medically recommended?” When I nodded, he continued. “Well, my friend injured himself and needs that treatment.”
Surprised and flattered at the same time, I said cautiously.
“I have to check the wound first, because this pen isn’t good for everything, you know.”
When I checked the wound, however, I realized that it was a very small cut. I smiled.
“It will work for this one!”
I carefully applied the yellow gel on my classmate’s finger, and told him to hold it for some time.
“You have to wait until everything is glued together, okay?”
Both of them nodded and thanked me before leaving to resume whatever they were doing. Later, I heard that the treatment did work and his cut healed quickly.
It was certainly not an appropriate treatment for healing a wound, but for the dreamy eight year old girl, it was simply fascinating to think that she had a magical pen. And to know that somebody else also liked the effect of the pen gave her a subtle, but distinct sense of satisfaction. Maybe that’s why the memory of this silly incident has never left me since.