Groggy and half-asleep, I get out of bed, my muscles heavy and lethargic from being asleep for hours. I crawl out of bed and stand up slowly, my legs buckling and bending under the weight of my drowsy body. I yawn and stretch, my arms reaching up to touch the stars. Jumping a little bit to reach the doorknob, I slowly swing the door  open, just enough for my skinny head to pop through, followed by the rest of my body. I slide carefully down the stairs, and change from my cozy pajamas into a soft cotton shirt and plasticky shorts like a snake shedding its skin. 

It’s a cold day and the snow outside looks like a soft blanket of white over everything. Then, I hold the power button on the front of my LeapPad. Its screen glows a bright emerald green as I start the new game I just got from my Mom.

Or at least, that’s how I remember it.

I find the LeapPad under the couch, half broken with an edge that almost cuts my hand like a razor, battery compartment covered in a crumbly layer of acid, screws stripped into nails after years of replacing batteries. Most of me wants to throw this old thing out, but a part of me that has been in a deep slumber, slams my pointer finger into the power button like a heavyweight champion, leaving an imprint in my hand from the force. The tablet sparks a little, then whirrs to life as the pixelated screen flickers on and a river of jade light rushes into my face. 

My old profile sits there, covered in dust. My body fills with the warm memory of my youth like a mug fills with steamy hot chocolate. I open the game, and I get to the loading screen when the screen starts struggling to stay on and the fans in the back are working overtime to keep it from overheating, like trying to blow on a forest fire like a birthday candle to keep it at bay. And yet, without a care in the world, I open up the game. The main menu appears for a split second, but it doesn’t last long as the screen finally fades to black, and the fans finally give in and switch off as the tablet finally dies.