Tracy Kushman 11-25-05 CNF Rough Draft Paper 3

Rock Solid Friendship

It’s been a long time since the second grade. I don’t even remember how old I was at the time. But I do remember how it felt. I walked up to the boys who were sitting around the tables after school waiting for their bus to be called. They were looking at some magazine with an ad in it for Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figures. I collected them and played with them just like those boys did. In the second grade I didn’t understand that there was a difference between boys and girls. I just wanted to be friends with other kids. Other kids who liked the same things I did. So I walked up to the tables where the boys were sitting and said, “I’ve got the blue one at home. He’s my favorite. Leonardo.” One boy, a kid with fiery red hair turned and looked at me and then quickly turned away. He and the other boys stood up and walked to some other tables. I quietly sat down and wondered why they walked away. A few days later a new kid came into our class. I didn’t think anything of him except that his name was the same as my middle name: Robin. I thought it was an odd name for a boy, but it didn’t bother me. He sat in the desk next to mine. Robin was quiet and shy; probably because he was new and didn’t know anyone. I let him share my crayons one day when he didn’t have any to use. He gave me some of

his pretzels another day during lunch. We didn’t talk about important stuff; what second grader does? But we made jokes and made each other laugh and we had a good time. A few weeks after Robin arrived in our class I was at my desk looking for something. It was one of those old-time, flip top, elementary school desks. So I had the top of my desk open with my hands on the lip looking through it. I didn’t see him walk by, but the fiery haired boy approached and purposely knocked the top of my desk down so that it landed hard on my small second-grade fingers. I screamed in pain and surprise and felt hot tears bust through my eyes and run down my cheeks. The whole class turned my way and stared as the teacher reprimanded the boy. The boy kept insisting that it was an accident, but the teacher didn’t believe him. And neither did Robin. “How would you like it if someone did that to you?” He yelled out of no where to the boy. The classes’ attention then shifted to the usually quiet Robin. “I bet you wouldn’t like it.” He then noticed the eyes on him and turned back into his shell. He walked over to my desk where I was rubbing my poor little fingers and he took one of my hands into his. He asked if I was okay. I didn’t answer him as I tried to stop my crying, but it was understood that I was, if only because he had said something. A few days later Robin walked into the classroom and went straight to his desk like he normally did. He didn’t talk to any of the other children in the class but me and that made me feel special. When he got to his desk he turned to me and asked, “You wanna come over and play Ninja Turtles on Saturday?” I stared at him for a moment. I didn’t have too many friends at the time, and I definitely didn’t have any friends that liked to play Ninja Turtles with me. Ninja Turtles was the thing I played alone in my bedroom. I would make up elaborate stories and

missions for them to go on, all climaxing with a huge duel between the four turtles and Bee-Bop and Rock-Steady. I didn’t know if I wanted to share this experience with anyone; the issue had never come up. I tried to show my sister how I played but she lost interest and went back to shooting basketball outside. Ninja Turtles was my game. Was I ready to let someone else play? When I got home that day I asked my mom if I could go to Robin’s house to play that weekend. She said she’d like to talk to his mom first so we got his number out of the school’s “buzz book” which was a phone list they put out with all the students numbers in it. I waited while my mom talked to Robin’s on the phone. I kept peeking my head in through the door to try and see if I could tell the answer just by looking at her. I strained my ears to hear not only my mom’s side of the conversation, but I tried in vain to hear Robin’s mom’s side as well. I was a wreak. I knew she would say “no,” if for no other reason than because he was a boy. While I didn’t understand the difference between boys and girls yet, I knew that there was one. And I also knew that this difference was very important to parents. But to me he was just another kid. Someone I could play with. My mom got off the phone and nearly walked into me as she rounded the corner. She saw the look in my eyes; the look that said that I desperately wanted to go to Robin’s to play. She looked at me, smiled and said, “It’s a go.” I remember jumping up and down and then running to my bedroom to pick out which turtles were going to go with me.

When Saturday did come around I rode in the backseat of my mom’s van as we drove to Robin’s house. Robin had drawn me a map to his apartment that showed us how to get there once we were in the complex. So I became a back seat driver giving my mom useless directions from the map drawn in crayon. He told me the day before in school to follow the line of trees to get to his place. I kept repeating this fact to my mom as though she had forgotten since the last time I told her. She was extremely patient with me. We got to his apartment, and as the two mothers introduced each other Robin and I ran into the small back yard they shared with their neighbor. Robin looked at me and said, “I got something for you. I found it out here yesterday and thought you should have it.” I followed him over to a large bush on the edge of the yard. He parted the branches of the bush and pulled out a rock. He handed it to me and I took it and examined it. The rock had been broken, not exactly in half, but so that you could see the inside which was full of sparkly specks. It was beautiful as a diamond to my second-grade eyes and without thinking I hugged him. We played the rest of the afternoon and when my mom came to pick me up I didn’t want to leave. Robin and I begged our parents to let me spend the night, but again that mysterious difference in our sexes didn’t allow it. I went home and put my rock on my dresser and sat and stared at it for a while. The next school day Robin wasn’t there. He wasn’t there Tuesday or Wednesday either. Finally by the end of the week I summoned up enough courage to ask the teacher where he was. She told me that he and his mom had moved again. She didn’t tell me why.

I walked back to my desk with my head down. The other kids looked at me but didn’t say anything. To them, Robin was just another kid: a kid that didn’t matter; didn’t exist in their life except that he filled a seat in the classroom. But to me he was a friend: someone that seemed to understand me. Days went by and soon I’d forgotten about my friend. That is until my eyes would fall on my dresser and on the rock he gave me. Then my mind would drift back to those few weeks I spent with Robin. I still have that rock. And I still think about Robin to this day. He was the first person who ever seemed to care about me, and for that he will be with me forever.

Sign up to vote on this title
UsefulNot useful