Friendship

Who needs friends when you have a trading partner?

                Miracles are classified as works of a divine one, whatever that means. Miracles are said to be welcoming events that bring happiness and spice into one’s life, what a lie. Happiness is a mental state labeled by humans, so it would be easier to classify it among the alphabet blocks. Miracles are created by the human imagination, an impossible perception of reality to patch up the holes of real life.

                Gil stared at the blank page before him, dully. What was the point of writing one’s feelings down on paper? The counselor would just skim through it, give some half-butt comment, and shred the paper into a food grinder when you’re not looking. Pushing his glasses up his nose, Gil wrote down his name on the top line. Glancing at the clock, he estimated that the cruel-and-unusual-punishment would be finished in fifteen minutes, fifteen more minutes ‘til freedom.

                Gil looked back down his paper. Should he just lie and write about flowers and unicorns? Tsk, that was a terrible idea. The counselor would probably hold him back for another session to discuss about rainbows and butterflies. But, if he wrote down that this was a waste of time and that the counselor was lame, Gil would get a smack across the wrists with a ruler and would have to start over. Either way, it was a lose-lose situation.

                Ten minutes left to go… Gil got up to sharpen his pencil, spending a good minute making sure the tip was at its sharpest point. Nine minutes left to kill… The counselor paced around the room, glancing at Gil’s paper and shaking his head. Eight minutes to go… With one eye on the clock, Gil began to write some words on the paper. At last, the counselor looked relieved and peered over Gil’s shoulder. With a smirk, Gil turned his pencil and erased the words he wrote. The counselor sighed and paced around again. Seven minutes to go… Then it was six, five, four, three, two…and one.

                With fifteen seconds left, Gil pushed his mostly blank page away and grabbed his backpack from under his seat. The counselor finally had enough. Kneeling down with his arms resting on Gil’s desk, the counselor asked, “Gil, why won’t you talk?”

                Gil looked up, tilting his head. It was best to play stupid and innocent so that he could get the heck out of here. Licking his lips, he shrugged. This guy didn’t need to know about his personal life.

                “Gilbert.” Oh, so the counselor is calling him by his full first name, eh? Gil pulled his arms through the backpack straps and tightened them. “All the other kids can respond to the teacher. All the other kids socialize with one another during recess. They all eat their lunches. Why aren’t you?”

                I’m not like the other kids, Gil wanted to say. He kept his lips shut and looked down at his shoes. One of his shoelace loops was bigger than the other. He would have to fix that if he didn’t want his shoe to untie itself. The counselor snapped his finger to get Gil’s attention.

                “Gilbert, your father and mother are worried about you. You’re refusing to turn in your work, you’re wandering the halls during class time, and you lock yourself in the restroom for hours on end. Is this funny to you?”

                What if it is? Gil bit his lips. This was cutting into his lunch time. Gil moved his lips, opened the office door and slammed it shut. Running towards the restrooms, he locked himself in a stall and pulled out his lunch kit from his backpack. Mother packed him carrots and a sandwich today. Gil dug through his lunch kit for the usual juice box. It seems his mother was smarter than he thought.

                Clicking his tongue, Gil dumped the solid food down the toilet and flushed it. The toilet got stuck and began to over fill. Gil threw in a roll of toilet paper, stopping the boiling waterfall. He heard voices coming in the distance. Tsking and pulling down the toilet lid, Gil stood on top of the toilet, backpack and lunch kit between his knees. He hoped, no, prayed that the toilet roll would keep the hungry waters contained. The squeaks of sneakers chirped in his ears and he heard the conversation.

                “Hey dude, I asked her out and she said ‘Yes’.”

                “Congrats, man!”

                Gil rolled his eyes and stared at the floor, watching the two boys’ shoes move back and forth between. Girls... Who would think about dating this young? Elementary school is the time to sharpen one’s tool set, and it was the perfect time to break all the school rules before graduation. Why spend the freedom on searching for a girl, a girl who’ll break up with you in less than two weeks? Gil watched the two sets of shoes leave, and the restroom was silent once again.

~~~

                “Gilbert, from now on, you’ll be eating your lunches here,” the counselor told him. Gil wanted to click his tongue but hid the urge under a convincible curious expression. It was best if the counselor believed that he was stupid. Placing a paper on Gil’s desk, the counselor recited the usual topic about feelings and said, “You have an hour and thirty before lunch, enough time to write more than just your name this time around.”

                Whatever, Gil thought. Sharpening his pencil, the office door opened and a red-head girl walked in. With a beanie on her head and baggy clothes hung over her slim figure, the girl looked more like a wannabe gangster than a twig. Gil hid his laugh with a cough.

                “Are you Mr. Buzz?” Even her voice was as tiny as she was. Gil couldn’t help but smile at how…how cute she was. Noticing the positive expression, Mr. Buzz quickly documented it on his clipboard with flair.

                “You must be Castor. Come in and sit.” Mr. Buzz pulled up an empty desk right next to Gil. The smile quickly flipped into a frown, and Gil glared daggers into little Castor’s soul. Either she was blind or oblivious; Castor happily took her seat and began chatting up a storm.

                “My name is Castor. My favorite color is red, and I like to skateboard. I have a daddy but no mommy, but daddy always brings a friend over so the friend is kind of like a mommy. My teacher says I express myself too much and that I need to be quiet so others can learn. I think she’s being a meanie to me. I like to eat meat, but I hate, hate milk.” She hissed the last word like it was poison. Gil couldn’t help but stare at Castor. If this chatterbox was attending Mr. Buzz’s sessions too… Gil’s grip snapped his pencil in half.

                To have a chatterbox like this with Mr. All-Up-In-Your-Business, the whole situation just got one step closer to a living nightmare.

                “Well Castor, the boy next to you is named Gil. Gilbert, say ‘Hi’.” What Mr. Buzz really meant was: This little delinquent here is Gil. [Insert hand slam on desk] Say something, you little freak!

                Biting his lip, Gil waved at Castor. The chatty girl took his hand and placed it next to her cheek. Slap! Mr. Buzz’s clipboard crashed onto the floor.

                “Castor, are you okay?” Gil clicked his tongue and grabbed a new pencil from his backpack. He wiped his infected hand over his pants, and cracked a glimpse at the red-head. Little Castor didn’t cry. She didn’t go red in the face nor did she curse him out. She just smiled. How can she smile after what he did to her?

                Castor gave him a toothy grin. “It’s nice to know you too.” Eyes wide with color high in his cheeks, Gil scribbled down nonsense onto his paper to distract himself. Using his bangs to hide his face, he glanced over at Castor’s desk. There was a pencil and a paper and a few words. I met a friend named Gil.

~~~

                Lunch time came around the corner. Pulling out his lunch kit, Gil scowled at the sight of peas and a tuna sandwich. Still, his mother did not pack a juice box. Gil couldn’t just leave to flush his food down a toilet. With Mr. Buzz’s watchful eyes on him, Gil took a tiny bite out of his sandwich, gagging the sick substance down his throat. Solid food…disgusting.

                Taking another small bite, Gil glimpsed over at Castor’s food. There was a juice box-size milk carton and a baloney sandwich, without crust. Gil eyed the milk with interest. Even with the bad impression earlier, Castor considered him as a “friend”. Maybe Castor would be interested in trade, but the action can’t be done with Mr. Buzz around.

                Like all humans, he needed substance to stay alive as well. He left ten minutes later to grab a tray of food from the lunch line, making sure the office door was locked before leaving. This was Gil’s chance. He poked Castor’s arm.

Castor: Yes, Gil?

Gil: …

Castor (nervously chewing her sandwich): You don’t eat much do you?

Gil (barely a whisper): Trade your milk.

Castor (picking up the carton): You’re not eating your food.

Gil: You’re not drinking your milk. Could make you taller.

Castor: You want to fight me?

Gil: You consider me as a friend, right?

                Gil looked away. Friends, it means mutual affection between two or more people. Castor had just met him about two hours ago. On her paper, she called him a “friend”. It’s not like Gil wanted to be friends with her. His last line just slipped out of his mouth, he wasn’t thinking properly.

Gil: …

                Castor gave him a slow smile. Taking his peas and sandwich, Castor passed over her milk.

                “I don’t get that much food anyway. This works in my favor,” Castor said, seasoning her sandwich with peas. Gil shrugged as he sipped Castor’s milk. He didn’t care, but he should at least thank Castor. She didn’t have to follow up with the trade. Castor could’ve let Gil starve for all she cared, but she didn’t. Castor didn’t give him a weird look when he poked her arm. She answered him. She carried a conversation with him, one-sided as it was, mostly.

                “Why am I your friend?”

                “You’re the same as me, aren’t you? We need each other to survive.”

                The next day, when Mr. Buzz gave out the cursed assignment to write about feelings, Gil finally had something worth writing about.

 

Friends, the proper definition for is: people or a person one knows and with whom one has a mutual affectionate bond with. Friends are the unspoken messengers of life. I don’t believe in miracles or happiness, but I believe friends can change you. I might have not met my ‘friend’ for a long time, but she treated me differently from everyone I know.

She’s patient with me, and she doesn’t get mad at my actions. She gives me a toothy smile and engages in a conversation with me. I know many people who just glare at me and use my name with vulgar language, but this ‘friend’…she didn’t do that. We had a nice conversation, one-sided at best. In a way, she coaxed me to talk, a bit. I guess because of her, I have to something to write about in this daily feelings paper nonsense.

Even though I made a bad impression with her when we first met, she saw me as a friend. I don’t know how that happened, but she sparked a little change in me.

                Gil didn’t have anything else to write about. The paper was more of a ramble than anything, and he was tempted to erase everything he wrote. But, looking over at Castor’s paper, he didn’t want to erase the truth that Castor set in him. Putting his name on top of the page, he handed it to Mr. Buzz.