I met Jane* when we were both eight years old. We lived in the same area, went to the same elementary school and, unsurprisingly enough, had the same classes. I guess you could say that we were bound to meet each other.
The first time we officially met was sometime during art class. It was an animal drawing class, where I realized I had no aptitude for art whatsoever when what was supposed to be a simple drawing of a penguin instead turned out to be an unrecognizable blob.
Instead of focusing on what was being taught, I got into the unfavourable habit of talking. Jane just so happened to have had the (unfortunate) opportunity to sit beside me. She was pretty quiet, but I struck up a conversation with her anyway while I was finishing up my latest artistic catastrophe.
I think I said something stupid like “I like your pencil case,” which was totally true, because I really did admire her Barbie-themed, rhinestone studded pencil case.
She said she liked mine too, but I doubted that, since mine had been a plastic container that my mom fished out of god knows where, with so many cracks and chips that it was a wonder it could still hold things without completely falling apart. Continue reading