All the Rocks We Cannot See

I was best friends with Penelope throughout all of elementary school. We always hung out, stood in our lunch line together, and did all of our work together. But at some point in our time at P.S. 24, around two years later, came Paloma. I did not like her, she did not like me. That was that. There was always beef between us. But, unfortunately, she became friends with Penelope so it was hard for me to always avoid her and the trouble that our interactions brought.

Usually it was small nagging things that we would do to each other, like call each other names, take things, make faces. Our greeting every day was usually an evil side-eye, but sometimes there would be boiling points. Moments when our facial expressions and complex provocation tactics of daring and mocking would not defuse the situation alone. The first such boiling point was when she stole one of my other friends’ notebooks before class. It was just a funny joke, but I saw this as an opportunity to attack, so I snitched on her to the teacher and somehow ended up getting us both in trouble. Meanwhile, Penelope was still caught in the middle, not wanting to choose sides.

Time went by, elementary school was elementary school, we were the little children we were. Nothing serious happened and we learned to live with each other, forming a frenemy relationship. 

But, one day in fourth grade when we were playing outside during recess, I did something very bad. It was not entirely intentional, but the outcome turned into what was probably the worst thing that I have ever done to someone. The three of us were playing in the tennis practice court that was a part of our school’s yard. There was no instigating event, at least not that I remember. No words were being exchanged between us. In fact Paloma was completely minding her own business. It started as just more of the same nagging behavior. I picked up a congealed pile of dirt - like those clumps of hardened sand at the beach - and with a light underhand lob, aimed at Paloma’s back. Unfortunately, just as I tossed this mushy rock, Paloma turned around, and Paloma’s eye was hit instead. I didn’t notice this right away, and when she started bawling I thought it was an exaggeration. I started to prepare a follow up verbal attack, but as I walked closer to her, I realized what I had done. 

Suddenly, the hunter became the hunted, except I knew it would be the all powerful teacher authorities hunting me. I made a last ditch attempt to escape, leaving the tennis area and sitting on the green bench that surrounded our yard’s tree. I expected to be reprimanded but wanted to at least go down with some dignity, sitting on the bench with the innocence of the bystanders surrounding me. It turns out she got so much attention and care from the teachers that none of them bothered to even punish me, and the event was forgotten by them. But by Paloma, and as it turns out her mother, it was not forgotten. 

My mother, who happens to be an eye doctor, got a call from Paloma’s mother that her daughter now had a black eye. My mother was not happy about this, but was equally angry and confused, so I avoided what could have been a much larger punishment from her too. Paloma was livid with me for a very very long time. For the rest of elementary school. 

One of my favorite movie quotes is “in confusion, there’s profit”, and it really sums up what happened here. The adults, previously minding their own business, in their own world, had been pulled into our kid world to respond to an emergency. Seeing their lack of understanding of the situation, I fled the scene and laid low. I suppose it is a good show of humanity, however, that effort was spent not on punishing someone else first, but rather on assisting the victim. 

Perhaps I had won – she was more distant from me – but at what cost. She of course was ok in the end, but I felt so much shock, partially because of the damage I had initially caused, and partially because of the fact that I got away with it. I couldn’t just forget about this moment like all the other small incidents that have occurred between me and her or anyone for that matter. I was now in a new age of thinking before throwing. 

When I left P.S. 24 the event was long past and no longer at the front of my mind. I went on with my life at Masters and my new friends. I had mostly lost touch with Penelope and did not even think about Paloma. Not until two years later when I got an invite to Penelope’s brother’s birthday party. It was a little strange that I was invited, especially to her brother’s party, but my parents encouraged me to go as it was going to be a pretty big event. 

The invite was unexpected, but even more so was that Paloma was there. It was a strangely normal feeling though; it was a reunion of three friends. The three of us had a typical birthday party experience. The side-eyeing was still there, but more out of awkwardness than hatred. We spent the whole night together, ate the provided pizza and snacks together, and went into a bouncy castle that we may have been too big for. We did not exchange many words, but we also did not feel like strangers. Even so, there was still a weird underlying uneasiness. It had been long ago, everyone had forgotten about it, but it was not fully gone from my mind. I could tell Paloma had not fully forgotten either, but none of us brought it up. After all this time, what was there to bring up? 

But that time proved to actually be the last time I would see Paloma. Now it really is just a distant memory. Thinking about it is like looking at a baby photo: you know it happened, but only because the photo says so. Perhaps the lesson here is simple: “don’t throw rocks at people,” but perhaps this story speaks more on the subject of memory and old friendships. Maybe one bad moment should not judge a future association with someone, but should rather be used as a turning point of your relationship with them, be it good or bad.