"From my best friend,"
I have decided to put my writing on the blog part, too, so I'm just putting it on the blog here, even if you may have read it. (Because I just might delete the page. I have a new idea!)
“From my Best Friend.”
I still remember the horrid “event” that happened about five years ago. “Nice eraser, Celine,” is the phrase that commenced the whole deal. Although it occurred so long ago, it sticks to my memory like a fly on the deceptive flypaper, begging itself to tug harder so it could escape the horrible feeling of “stickyness.”
As I had mentioned, it all started with that one comment. At the age of five, I was in first grade. A few days ago, I had gotten a wonderful new eraser. My best friend, Angela had given it to me. As a gift, I had accepted it gratefully. Wrapped in pink gift wrap, it was the perfect eraser for me. Yes, it was an eraser. Although it doesn’t sound like such a big deal, it was important to me. It was one of those erasers that looked like fat mechanical pencils, but a fat eraser replaced with the lead. That wasn’t it. Adorable picutres of Winnie the Pooh were on it with a pink background. Winnie the Pooh was my all-time favorite bear, and it still is today. Because I loved it so much, I was careful not to use it up too much. Therefore, I only erased with the eraser when there were big mistakes on the paper, in my effort to “save” the eraser.
“I like your eraser, Celine. Where’d you get it?” Brianna repeated.
“From my best friend. She gave it to me,” I whispered. I was a bit shy, as I always was.
“Ooooohhhhh~” she squealed. “Can I see it?”
Reluctantly, I gave it to her, knowing something was up. Being me, Celine, too shy to protest, I didn’t say anything.
Brianna was really very mean. Maybe not that mean, but she was one of those people you have to make sure not to meet and be friends with. Unfortunately, I didn’t really know that, not until it all ended with me the only one in despair. Glancing over at her, I saw her examine the “marvel” she had discovered. Wearing a blue and white tartan plaid dress with white stockings – our required uniform in our private school, she erased her name on the worksheet to try the eraser out. Brianna’s dirty blond hair was put into a ponytail with the school-uniform-scrunchie. Her hair was a bit tangled.
I knew I coudn’t be friends with her, but I just couldn’t admit it. Not that I was actually best friends with her. We weren’t what you would call friends, but we weren’t what you would call enemies, either. Our relationship was more of an I-know-you-and-you-know-me-and-we’re-nice-to-each-other-but-we-aren’t-really-good-friends type. Simply, we were just “remote” friends, but she acted as we were best friends.
“Can I borrow it?” Brianna asked, climbing up to the “next step.”
“Uhhh... okay...?” I answered. Now, I knew she was getting at something I wouldn’t like but didn’t utter a word.
“Thanks!!” She squealed, snatched it, and started erasing random spots on her worksheet.
Staring at the eraser gloomily, I wondered. Why couldn’t I say, ‘No! Give it back!’ Half of me wanted to walk up to her and take it back. The other half didn’t do anything, just stayed “neutral.”
“It was my eraser, after all, “I had probaby thought. “If I was the owner, I could take it back, right? Or maybe not.”
Since I was very timid, I didn’t have the courage to walk up to her and take it back. After a while of “erasing,” Brianna took the risk, the next step.
“Umm... can I have it?” She said, almost pleadingly.
Now I understood. All of the talking was just effort to try to take my eraser. This just got me. 15/16 of me said, “NO!” And 1/16 of me said, “Uhh... maybe?”
The look on my worried, reluctant, and the of-course-not,-are-you-kidding-me look was clear to Brianna. Sensing her mission was in danger, she made a “change of plans.”
“Let’s do this – how about I can have it two days, then you can have it one day, then I’ll have it two days, and, you know...” She looked at me expectantly.
Peculiarly, I’m not sure why, maybe it was because as a first grader, I wasn’t so bright, but that sounded like a perfectly good deal to me.
“Okay,” I mumbled. Seeing that there was a huge party of delight on her face, I realized it was the same face that could have been frowning after a short reply of “No” from me. Wearily, I just watched her as she showed off “her eraser” every now and then (actually, every thirty seconds) by erasing empty space on her worksheet for fifteen seconds. Only waving it a little, she made an abundance of people notice it. By the first hour, my eraser would definitely be gone and depleted. Longing for it back, I watched her play around with my eraser.
“Cool eraser! Where’d you get it?” Kenneth asked Brianna. He had noticed my eraser in her hands.
“Oh, from my best friend, she gave it to me...” Brianna announced proudly.
I almost fainted. Wanting to tell Kenneth that it was actually mine, I listened to their three minute long conversation about cool erasers. Brianna wasn’t a complete “devil,” but she wasn’t the greatest friend, either. For some queer reason, I didn’t want to mess with her. If it were today, I definitely would have told Kenneth that it was my eraser, but I don’t remember what I thought then.
During math, she wrote 1+1=2, erased the 2, rewrote it, erased it, and rewrote the 2 again. That went on for each question for the whole fifty minutes of Math.
I didn’t realize then, but she was almost like a bully. Not the type that punches you and takes your lunch money, but the sly type that always has plans to somehow drag you into misery. As a bossy person, she was the type of person that has to get what she wants, and if things didn’t go her way, she made it.
The fifth day after the deal, and it seems it still belongs to her. There I stood, all I did was stare and hate her. Only once did I ask for it back, which was replied with “Another day, please?” Up until today, I never seem to actually get over it and forget it.
For example, last Christmas, I had gotten the same kind of eraser. My brother had given it to me. It was a slightly different eraser – yellow with butterfly designs and a “Doraemon” picture (Japanese animation character) on it. Also, instead of clicking the end of the eraser to make more “eraser-lead” emerge, you had to twist the end to make it appear. One day, I had left it in my desk. The next day, I came for it, and I found it in the back of my desk, awaiting my return. Knowing that before I had lost my eraser, it had at least 3 inches of the “eraser-lead” in it, I realized that someone who sat at my desk had used it. When I looked at it, there was barely 2 inches of it left, and in a small eraser like I have, one inch does make a big difference. Angrily, I had shoved the eraser back into my pencil case, since I was very unhappy. Not just that the person who sits in my seat used up almost half of my amazing eraser, but that almost the same thing happened 5 years ago, and that wasn’t such a great experience to remember, especially when you are already mad at the fact that your eraser is half used in a day’s worth. However, it is not all of the other person who sits at my seat’s fault or Brianna’s fault. Also, it is partly my fault that I didn’t take the responsibility of “defending” myself (from Brianna) and from remembering to take my belongings with me when I leave a classroom. So, as a result, I have gotten good from the bad – because now I know to say what I think I should and not just watch myself being tortured. And most important of all, I know never to give a Pooh Bear pink eraser to anyone named Brianna!