When I first moved away from my hometown, Birmingham, Alabama, I was eight years old and I had been friends with the same three girls and two guys my entire life. I wasn't entirely sure how to make new friends and I'm not quite sure I was ready to do it either. Even in my younger years I never strayed from the people I was familiar with because my comfort zone didn't include a classroom full of people or even people from other classes. Though my friends were few and far between, I was happy and I wished that would never change but wishes don't always come true.
At eight I walked into my third grade classroom not knowing anyone and not planning on knowing anyone. I would be going home to Shades Cahaba Elementary any day and so I didn't need new friends. Everyday class was the same: We would go over math in the morning, a simple science after that, and then a boy in my class, who went by Amari, would go to a special class called Renaissance while the rest of us would read. Eventually the teacher noticed I was, like Amari, advanced in my reading and soon I too was leaving the classroom to go to the gifted reading class. It went on like this everyday until the middle of the school year. Working math problems in the morning, participating in simple science activities, reading advanced books, writing down vocabulary in the same black composition notebook, sitting alone in lunch, and wondering why each day was so dull and boring. Then, on what started as the normal dull day, something new happened.
It started as the same routine: math, science, and then Amari and I leaving class together. At this point I considered him an acquaintance and would now walk beside him instead of following behind him a few feet as to avoid conversation. As we entered the classroom we sat in our self-assigned seats but we all noticed that someone else was in the classroom and she had distanced herself from the rest of the class–and by distanced herself, I mean when the six of us sat on the left side of the room she chose to sit in the farthest desk on the right side of the room. Everyone found this strange, even on my first day I chose a seat next to Amari because his presence was familiar to me. She sat with her head looking at the desk and only looked up when the teacher came in and started talking to her. I sympathized with her wish to sit alone and I longed to talk to her. She had icy blue eyes and blonde hair that has begun turning brown as the years go on. Her skin was pale and reminded me of the clay my grandmother would sculpt Christmas angels with except she had a splatter of freckles across her nose and down her arms whereas the angels were a striking white.
Minutes after class starts she calls the teacher over and says she's not feeling well. Since there were no classrooms for our gifted reading class to be taught in we were placed outside in a mobile classroom. To call the nurse the teacher would have to go inside the school building and borrow another teacher's room phone. She looked around the classroom and asked the class who would sit with the new student to make sure she was okay while she ran inside to call the nurse. The classroom was silent. I decided that I would finally move out of my comfort zone and do something different: I would make a friend. I quickly got up from my desk and scurried over to the left side of the room, clumsily tripping over my own feet as I made my way across the makeshift classroom. I sat myself down next to her and I asked her what her name was. "My name is Juley," She whispered, "with an 'ey' at the end." I told her that my name is Sawyer and that I didn't like my name very much. We talked in quiet voices while the rest of the class roared with laughter because of childish jokes only third graders would find funny. She told me she was feeling hot and we eventually stepped out of the door behind us into the cool winter air. Juley then asked me to turn around because she felt like she was going to throw up and I obliged. I'm a sympathy puker and I didn't want to be sick as well. I felt like I had to protect and take care of her because not only did the teacher ask me to but I felt a sense of responsibility for the girl that was only a month and four days younger than me. That I had only known for a few minutes. I heard her spit a few times and I turned around and placed my hand on her upper back and rubbed my hand in small circles like my mom would do for me when I was sick. I noticed something when I looked down. Whatever liquid she just spit up was blue. "Why is it blue?" I asked her. She smiled and her cheeks flushed. She was obviously embarrassed. "I ate a blue popsicle earlier." I didn't want to make her feel bad so I smiled at her and took my hand from her back. My response was "Cool!" because, in all honesty, something like that is pretty cool to a third grader. It was silent for a few seconds and I began to think I had said the wrong thing when she smiled at me and agreed. It was in that moment that I had made a friend I would never lose. She was my lifelong sidekick, but she was also my hero. She helped me open up and become someone I would have never been without her help. When we talk about this subject she also tells me that I'm her hero because I'm strong and I don't get scared anymore. She'll never agree that I'm also her sidekick, but I will. Sometimes I seek her guidance and she does her best to give it to me.
It's been eight years and my best friend is still the quiet girl with icy blue eyes and blonde hair that has turned brown as the years have gone on. She still reminds me of the Christmas angels my grandmother sculpts with stark white clay except with a splatter of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She's why I am who I am today and I am eternally grateful.
