Chapter Twelve: The Maroon Crayon

PART I

It was my first day of kindergarten. Little five year old me was running around the house in my new overalls and yellow shirt that said 'first day of school', along with my backpack that had a cartoon picture of a police car, a firetruck, and an ambulance. I zipped up and down the stairs and through the halls pretending to make my favorite toy--my firetruck toy--fly.

"Nickie!" My mom called to me. "Why are you running?" She asked.

"Because I'm happy!" I said.

"You excited for your first day?"

"Yeah. I'm gonna get a friend!"

My mother blushed. In my early years I wanted nothing more than to have a friend, and it was something I would talk about constantly, and my mom knew this. I never really had a friend my age. I was an only child, and my parents were both the youngest in their family and married late so all my cousins were at least ten years older than me. My parents didn't have any friends with kids my age either. On top of that, my mother was pretty protective of me and didn't let me hang out with the neighborhood kids because their parents seemed sketchy to her. Kids I met at the grocery store were often put off by how enthusiastic I was to meet them too. The only friends I had were cartoon pals on TV, but I couldn't interact with them. Not really. It was always nice to pretend I could though. But even they had friends, and always taught the value of being nice, and showing that sharing was caring and all that. As hyper of a child as I was, I was actually very perceptive of the messages and lessons they taught in kids shows at a young age, and wanted to apply them in real life once I had someone I could call a friend.

My father came downstairs with his disposable camera. "Hey Nickie, are you ready for your first day of school?"

"Yeah! Yeah! Yeah!" I jumped up and down in anticipation. "I'm gonna make a friend!"

My parents took countless pictures of me. Pictures of me jumping, pictures of me in my Superman pose, pictures of me with my favorite toy truck, and most importantly, pictures of the three of us being together as a family.

PART II

My mom drove me to school.

"Hey, mommy?"

"Yes Nickie?"

"How do I make a friend? Is there a special way? Do I go up to them and ask them, or do I have to marry them in a friendly way?"

My mother laughed, and seeing her laugh made me happy, so I laughed too.

"Well, it's not the same every time. There are a lot of ways to make a friend. Sometimes you make friends by asking, sometimes you make friends by being nice, and sometimes you make friends by helping people."

"Which way is the best way?"

"You'll know once the time is right."

We arrived at school where my mother took even more pictures, and walked inside together holding hands.

When we got in the room all the other kids were listening to the teacher read a story. I wondered why they already seemed so established and in sync even though it was just the very first day. The teacher eyed us and put the book down to greet us as soon as she finished the sentence she was on. "Well hello there! What's your name?" She greeted me with enthusiastic energy surging from her aura.

"I'm Nick!" I said.

"Hi Nick," she looked at my mother. "Are you Nick's mommy?"

"Yes I am," she said, kneeling next to me to kiss my cheek. "I just wanted to walk him into his very first day."

"I'm Ms. Darcy. Do you want to stay in class for today?"

"Oh how I would love to, but I have to get to work soon." She eyed me. "But Nick, do you want me to stay for a little while?"

"It's okay, I'm not scared," I said. Though if I knew then what would have come to be in the future, I wouldn't have asked her to stay a while longer because I was scared, I would've asked her to stay a while longer because it would've been another memory I would have had with her. I grew up with much too few.

She hugged me and went off to work.

"Okay Nick, are you ready for your first day of school?" asked Ms. Darcy.

"Yeah!" I jumped.

"Head on up to the front of the class and say your name and how old you are, and tell us your favorite color," Ms. Darcy said.

All the kids were sitting in what I learned to be criss-cross applesauce position on the floor, staring at me. I looked among the faces. I wondered who in the class would end up being my friend.

"Hi guys, my name is Nick!" I said. "I'm five. My favorite color is red because I like firetrucks."

"Anything you wanna say to your classmates?"

"Do any of you wanna be my bestest friend?"

They were all silent, and it was then when what my mother said ended up being true: friendship isn't as simple as asking the question. I was going to have to prove I was nice first.

PART III

Ms. Darcy read the rest of the story she was reading before. It was called 'The Turtle and the Rabbit', and it was meant to teach us that slow and steady would win the race rather than being fast and cocky. I thought it was pretty dumb to be honest. My five year old mind went deep in thought calculating all the fallacies of the story and the message. The rabbit only lost because he was sleeping! It didn't have to do with fast or slow, the rabbit was just a dummy. Being the fastest was the obvious way a person won a race.

Later on, Ms. Darcy told us it was show and tell day and that we had to bring a special toy and draw it, and later we would show it to the class and explain why we chose that toy. She also told me since it was my first day I could draw a toy from memory, but I already had my special fire truck toy packed with me so that was okay.

Some kids had their own coloring materials, but most of us (myself included) didn't. The teacher put all the color stuff at the front of the class, and one by one we all grabbed some. Sadly when it was my turn, there were no more crayons available. There were only colored pencils, markers, and paint.

Let me explain. As a kid, the only acceptable art utensil was a crayon. No exceptions. Markers always bled through the paper. Paint was sticky and got everywhere and made my mother mad. Colored pencils always broke when I held them on the page too hard. I wanted crayons, and ONLY crayons. Nothing else was acceptable.

I asked Ms. Darcy for crayons, and she told me to just pick something else. I was insistent though, and she suggested I could borrow some from one of my classmates. I decided to do that because I knew sharing was caring, and I assumed everyone else did too. I also thought it could be an opportunity to make a friend.

There was a boy who was the tallest kid in class using a box of crayons. He was about five inches taller than me and probably would have been a regular kid in the eyes of any adult viewing him, but in my mind he was a GIANT, and giants were powerful and mighty. I really wanted HIM to be my friend.

"Hi," I said. "Can I borrow your crayons?"

"I'm using them."

"Can I just use the red one? That's the only one I need."

"No. I want my red one."

I glanced over to what he was drawing. A standard black and white soccer ball. "Your toy isn't even red!" I said.

"Well you still can't use mine because it's mine and I said so." He took his red crayon and shoved it down his pants, sticking his tongue out at me.

"That's not nice."

"You're not nice."

I decided to ask some of the other kinds to borrow their red crayons, but as I turned my head to ask, they put their red crayons in their pants and shirts as well, teaming up on me, giggling like it was a game. I guess to them it was, but my feelings were really getting hurt.

I decided not to act out on my frustration and let them be. My mother always told me the importance of being kind, and it was advice I took to heart, even at the age of five years old.

I scanned the room for anyone else with crayons that haven't mocked me yet. I couldn't find anyone. I walked back to my seat in defeat, but then in the corner of my eye, I saw a girl with incredibly black hair and incredibly light brown eyes sitting in the corner by herself. Most of everyone else had at least one person they were sitting with, but not her. She was alone like me. She also happened to be drawing with crayons, and she had a whole lot of them.

I walked up to her with the crayon objective in mind, but then I saw the book the same book the teacher read at the start of class. The one about the turtle and the rabbit.

"Why do you have Ms. Darcy's book?" I asked her.

She looked up from her drawing, which happened to be a gold coin necklace, and faced me. "It's my book," she said. "I liked it so much that I wanted to share it with everyone, so I asked Ms. Darcy to read it. Did you like it?"

"I thought the pictures were pretty, but the message was kinda dumb."

"Why?"

"The rabbit was faster and better. It says that slow and steady wins the race, but if the rabbit didn't fall asleep, the turtle would have lost."

"I think you didn't get the real story. You just said the real moral."

"Huh?"

"It didn't matter that the turtle was slow. It mattered that he believed in himself even if he was slow. It mattered that the rabbit thought he was really fast and cool and didn't think the turtle could beat him, so he slept. The rabbit could have won, but in the end it wasn't about what could have happened if another thing happened. The turtle still won. Do you get it?"

I tried to think about what she said, but my mind jumped to another matter. "Hey, Ms. Darcy said to draw a special toy. Why are you drawing a necklace?"

"I don't have a special toy."

My eyes grew wide, and my expression drooped. "You don't have any toys?"

As a kid, my mother always said there were kids that didn't have toys because their parents couldn't afford any and had to buy food instead, and seeing a kid without a toy made me sad. I had an extra toy I brought to school that day other than my fire truck. A police car. I was prepared to give it to her.

"I do have toys, but I don't have a special toy. This necklace is special though."

"Why is it special?" I asked.

She stopped and looked around as if she was seeking for an answer, but eventually she looked at me and said, "I don't know."

"Well, it's really pretty," I said, and I meant it. For a five year old kid, it was a pretty neat drawing.

"Thanks," she said. "I like to read and I like to make art. Look at all my colors!" She opened her backpack to show me her endless supplies of construction paper, fancy paints, markers, colored pencils, and yes, crayons. It baffled me that a kid could have so many supplies.

"Woah," I said. "Do you have a red crayon I can borrow?"

She pursed her lips together. "I let some of our other classmates borrow my colors before. They usually come back broken," she said. "Look." She pulled out an exhibit of a purple crayon broken in half."

"I promise I'll take good care of it. I'm nice."

She studied me for a minute. "Okay, you can borrow a crayon," she said. "But please give it back when you're done."

I leaped in the air with excitement. "Yes!"

She opened up her crayon box, and I bolted my hand for a dark red one. "Thank you!" I excalimed.

"That's not red," she said.

"What? Yes it is."

"No it's not." She pulled out a lighter shade than the one I picked. "This is red. See?" She pointed at the label on the crayon that said R-E-D. I knew basic words. I knew that was the red one.

"If that's not red, then what's this?" I asked. I looked at the word on the crayon I picked, but it was a big word for my five year old eyes. "May-- mer-- mah--"

She glanced over at the word. "Mah . . . rune," she said. "Yeah. That color is called maroon."

For some reason my five year old ears registered that as the fanciest thing I've ever heard. Maroon. It was like red, but not red. It was like red, but for rich people that could afford to buy as many colors as they wanted. Instantly, I decided maroon was my new favorite color.

"Here's the red one," she said, holding it over to me.

"I like this better. I want a maroon truck."

She smiled. "You can use that then."

We ended up drawing and coloring our pictures next to one another, giggling and talking about the silly things kids talk about. It didn't feel like long before it was time for show and tell.

PART IV

Kids went up one by one to display their barbies or action ficures or teddies for show and tell. Nice girl went up and showed her necklace, took it off, and held it in front of our classmates to show the class more closely. For some reason as we jumpy five-year-olds marveled at it, we were completely fixated and still. Even Ms. Darcy was enchanted by it. It definitely was a special necklace in some fashion. After she was done explaining about how her mom said she wore that necklace during her pregnancy to make Jean born and she's had it ever since, she sat back on the floor criss-cross aplesauce.

A few kids later, it was my turn. I went to the front and showed the class my fire truck, and my artwork of the firetruck in maroon form.

"I like this toy because when I grow up, I wanna be a fireman because firemen are brave and strong like heroes. Even though fires are scary and they can get hurt, firemen still save people and cats. I like cats too," I explained.

"Very nice," Ms. Darcy said.

After show and tell it was play time. I searched for the nice girl that let me borrow her crayon because I promised I would give it back, and my mother told me that nice people kept promises. I also wanted to know if she'd like to make sand castles with me. She was talking to the tall boy that was mean to me before.

"Can I see your necklace?" Tall boy asked.

"No," nice girl said. "My mommy said I can't let anyone else have it."

"Please? I just wanna see it. It's really pretty like you."

"I don't want to."

He pulled out a little book from his pocket with a picture of a princess on it. "I know you like to read. You can borrow this if I borrow that."

"You can only see it for five seconds," she said.

"Okay."

Nice girl took off her necklace and handed it to him slowly, a questioning look on her face. Tall boy immediately ran off with it. "It's mine now!" he excalimed.

Nice girl chased him. "Hey, give it back!"

Tall boy ran up the playstructure, but when he went down the slide I was there waiting for him.

"Give it back," I said.

"Make me."

I attempted to grab the necklace from him, but he held it up to the sky and had me jumping up and up trying to get it. "You're too short," he said.

It was then I remembered the story about the rabbit and the turtle. The rabbit had all the physical advantages, but I realized that it was because of his physical advantages he grew too cocky and lost the race. Nice girl said I didn't get the real moral of the story, but here was the story presented to me placed right in front and my initial thoughts were true: bigger was better. I couldn't win. In defeat, I stopped jumping.

Tall boy dangled the necklace just within my reach again. "Giving up so soon?"

I jumped again, but he moved his arm up high and it was out of my reach once more. He laughed in amusement, and lowered his arm again to have me jump for it.

"I give up," I said.

He smirked and turned away. While his back was turned, I jumped on him and grabbed it just short of him putting it on. He was crying on the ground, but I honestly didn't care at that point. I ran over to nice girl and returned it, and she quickly put it back around her neck.

"Thank you," she said.

"And here's your crayon." I handed it to her.

She clasped her hand in front of her mouth and gasped. All the kids stopped playing and turned in the same direction she was looking in. I looked in that direction too, and Ms. Darcy was consoling tall boy who was still crying, and he pointed at me. I was in trouble.

PART V

Tall boy, nice girl and I were in the principal's office later on with our parents. We explained the story to them and though tall boy was stealing, I was the one that inflicted violence and I was to be suspended for three days and transfered to another class. My mom was really disappointed in me and told me in the future that I should only fight if it's self-defense.

I cried. That was the first time I've ever gotten into big trouble.

Nice girl's mom and my mom talked with one another outside the principal's office and it was clear in the conversation that nice girl's mom was actually really grateful for what I've done.

"Thank you for sticking up for me," nice girl said while our mothers were lost in chatting with one another.

"Thank you too," I said. "Everyone was mean to me today except for you. I'll never forget that you let me borrow your crayon."

She opened her backpack. "If you like it that much you can have it," she said, handing it towards me.

I accepted it. "Really?"

She nodded. "Yeah."

"What's your name? I never asked you. I'm Nick."

"I'm Jean."

"I'm going to be moved to another class, Jean, but I wish we could be friends."

When I said the word wish, something in her clicked. She got close as if it were to tell me a secret. "I think if you try hard enough, your wish can come true."

And you know what? It did.

The End