Imagine somebody put something in your drink that gets a magical genie to pop out and you ask to see Ramones perform live, because back then you were too nerdy to care and also you thought you had all the time in the world and you didn’t know that most of them would soon be dead, but even if you knew, you still had no chance, because you lived far away and you were also broke.
Imagine you’ve stumbled upon a playful or stupid or merciless genie who doesn’t take you to the concert, it takes you back to you instead, only it’s not you yet, you go back to a younger version of you, an expired edition of yourself, who still lives in the past and believes in punk rock and utopias and wonderful worlds sang in coarse voices, and other outdated, magical stuff young people of that era believed in.
Imagine you dress up for the occasion, you wear your favorite t-shirt, which you now use only in the house, because it’s comfortable and also comforting, but back then you wore it everywhere, and you enjoyed the curious glances by passers-by, and young you wears the same t-shirt, only it’s brand new, not yet worn-out, the colors are shiny, the band logo is blinking like fairy lights, and young you is glowing like youth always does.
Imagine you both start singing the song, only you sing different lyrics, because young you can’t google the lyrics, and you roll your wrinkled eyes and laugh, like young you is stupid, because you forget young you may be younger but it’s still you, and once you remember, you laugh harder, because you laugh at yourself, and you know that nobody put something in your dream, that it was your drink that got messed up instead, but young you doesn’t know, and you don’t say anything, because you don’t want to ruin the moment, young you prefers magic in the dream, instead of some substance in the drink that would spoil the song, the feeling, the beauty of a narrative in which strangers invade dreams to place magic and then leave forever.
Imagine there’s stuff that you wanna say, but you only listen, you listen to young you tell you about how Ramones started punk rock, and how rebellious they are, and you’re on the verge of speaking the truth, you’ve reached the age most of them were when they died and you know better now, you wanna say that they’re not truly rebellious, they just sound like it, like Sex Pistols, but you remain silent, you don’t talk much, you don’t mention a thing about the band and lost loves and future betrayals, you don’t say how the world is a mess, you let young you live in the season of drinks and dreams and sweet blissful ignorance, and you promise yourself you won’t be fooled again, that next time somebody puts something in your dream and a genie pops up, you won’t choose Ramones, you’ll wear a Clash t-shirt and you’ll go back to meet Joe Strummer instead.
Mileva Anastasiadou is a neurologist, from Athens, Greece and the author of "We Fade With Time" by Alien Buddha Press. A Pushcart, Best of the Net, Best Microfiction and Best Small Fictions nominated writer, her work can be found or is forthcoming in many journals, such as the Chestnut Review, New World Writing, Best Microfiction anthology 2024, Cotton Xenomorph, and others.