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asked.
    “Well, my mom tries to make holidays special, you know? So, she went to great lengths for my fifteenth birthday.”
    “To get you a banana.” Liliana nodded.
    “Well, not exactly. She couldn’t get a banana. But she somehow got black-market shampoo from West Germany . . . that smelled like a banana.”
    “Ohhh . . .” She bit her lip.
    “Exactly. But I made a big fuss and”—the Coke was definitely going to my head—“I’ll tell you a secret.”
    Liliana waited, eyes wide.
    “That shampoo smelled so good”—my voice dropped to a whisper—“I drank some when no one was looking, just to say I had tasted a banana.”
    “Oh, Cristian.”
    “I know, embarrassing. If you ever tell anyone, I might have to kill you.”
    “Don’t worry. I might not survive this Coke!” She laughed.
----
    •   •   •
    I often think about that moment, reliving its perfection in my head.
    Liliana. A real Coke. Banana shampoo.
    Sometimes we don’t recognize life’s perfect moments.
    Until it’s too late.

|| INFORMER REPORT ||
    [17 Oct. 1989]
    Cristian Florescu (17), student at MF3 High School.
    Observed Friday evening with Liliana Pavel (17), in 3rd sector, Salajan. After meeting in the street, the two quickly proceeded to a hidden spot where they engaged in clandestine discussion and the sharing of illegal items.
    Advise monitoring.

12
DOISPREZECE
    We couldn’t stop laughing, drunk on contraband and sugar.
    By the time we got to video night there was little room to move.
    “You’re late,” whispered Starfish. “Movie’s starting. You’ll have to stand in the back. Is your sister coming?”
    “No, she’s not coming. What’s the movie?” I asked.
    “First movie is called Die Hard .”
    I leaned over and whispered to Liliana. “ Die Hard . Bulă says they’re making an action film about Romania. It’s called Live Hard .”
    We laughed and Starfish told us to shut up. I wanted to brush Liliana’s hair from her face so I could see her eyes when she laughed. But I didn’t.
    Over thirty people sat, crammed in the small, musty living room. Girls in the front, guys in the back. I spotted Luca among the boys. Arriving late had worked in my favor. I could stand against the wall, next to Liliana. In the dark, amidst the glow of the small television, I felt the press of her arm against mine. Did she feel it?
    Video nights were forbidden. The Securitate could burst in at any time and haul us to headquarters. That only increased the excitement. The nervous energy in the room buzzed like a fizzy static over my entire body. I looked around. How did this video network function? It had to be big business. Who was duplicating the tapes and secretlydistributing them to neighborhood operators like Starfish? Starfish was probably making more money in one night than most Romanians made in a month. I once spied the Securitate agent in our building with a handful of videos. Had they been confiscated from a video night somewhere, or were they his own?
    Everyone sat, hypnotized by the screen and the woman’s voice coming from it, speaking the dubbed Romanian translation. No one cared that the copies were poor and grainy. We’d watch four movies per night and be blissfully bleary-eyed by morning.
    Liliana leaned in to whisper. “She’s replacing the swear words. Can you hear it? She’s using ‘Get lost’ for all the swears.”
    Her mouth was so close to my ear. Liliana smelled like flowers—the type you smell on the air in spring but can’t find when you look for them. That smell, the press of her arm against mine, it made it difficult to concentrate and look at the TV. I wanted to look at her instead. But Liliana was right. The woman dubbing the English into Romanian was replacing the swear words.
    “If you listen closely,” I told her, “sometimes you can also hear forbidden English words like ‘priest’ or ‘God.’ ”
    She nodded then touched my hand. “Look! They’re drinking a