Goodbye

The rain was streaking the window on the first day of kindergarten. It was stormy and cloudy; the ground was being ruthlessly slaughtered by the pellets of rain that fell on it.

Inside it was different.

The lighting wasn't coming from a harsh fluorescent light, but rather the many lamps that were all scattered around. There weren't any hard chairs but lot of beanbags, coaches, and mats. The alphabet was hidden in large picture frames, just waiting to be found in the odd corners of the room. Even if there was a SMARTboard in the front of the room, the whiteboard looked a lot more used.

Looking back, it was more of a house than anything.

And there you were, holding your mother's hand. Your grip looked like it was trying to break her hand. Her skin was folding in white waves around where your fingers were pressing, and a painful red blossomed further away.

They had to drag you away from her.

It was humorous looking back at it. You put on quite the show, adding drama to the first day of kindergarten.

You stumbled toward me, looking as angry as a kindergarten student could be. Your hands were woven in tight fists, and I was sure your nails were leaving angry marks in your palm. Your steps were quiet, but it looked like you wanted them to be loud.

You also looked adorable with your red cheeks puffing out. They looked like small apples with how red they were. You also looked seconds away from crying; your eyes shimmered over with a very light sheen of water.

You could already coordinate your outfits in kindergarten. A red coat hung just above your knees, complimenting a stylish pair of red boots. (Well, it was hard to see if they were red boots: too much mud was covering them.) Both contributed greatly to the "strawberry" theme you had going.

The rubber in your boots squeaked in protest as they slipped against your legs, and the rug underneath you absorbed all the water slipping from the bottom of the boots. Your grubby hands grabbed onto the tassels at the edge; you tried your best to break them just to be dramatic.

You were always dramatic.

I pushed my bunny next to you, too scared to say any words for fear that you would snap. A few years of living with my teenage brother taught me that it was better to stay quiet when approached with an angry child.

That knowledge came into use that day, and I'm happy that it did.

It earned me a temporary best friend.

⚞⚘⚟

We were always together.

The first few years of elementary school were hard; being introduced to numbers and words was not a fun task.

Our favorite time of the day was the large period of time where we got to eat lunch and have recess. Running around on the blacktop and trying to steal each other's lunches was usually how the day went. When the period for lunch was over, we'd go join some random group of kids and play a game together.

We always wanted to be on the same team.

We always were on the same team.

When school was over, we'd go to a playground nearby. It was you who taught me how to play with the equipment that was there. You'd stand at the bottom of the firepole with your hands out.

"I'm here to catch you! Slide down!" was what you said after you shoved me up the stairs. The sun must have been burning into your backside, but you still smiled with the front two teeth missing.