Missy, It and Me.

I had a friend in grade school – Missy. She was the most popular of the 2nd graders, though I’m not exactly sure why. Regardless, she was the one everyone wanted to be friends with, though she wasn’t exactly the most liked.

For whatever reason, we became close that year in Mrs. Bumble’s class. I think we had three recess times each day (that seems like a lot, so maybe it was just 2), and when we would go outside in the cold Midwestern winters, we’d play a variation of tag.

There were many of us who played, but Missy was always our leader. The variation was that the chaser never changed. We spent our free time running from It. It wore puffy green gloves and Missy said It would pick It's nose and cover It's hands with the boogers.

“Run!” we’d call out between giggles, “Booger-hands is coming!”

I remember the day It switched gloves. The green were replaced with red, but blood was just as easily substituted for boogers. It was that day I began thinking about why It would change It’s gloves.

“The green ones were perfectly good.” I told Mom that night as I dried the dishes she washed, standing on a red stool that said “Stand up to be tall, Sit down to be small” so I could reach into the sink. “Plus, saying he had boogers was funnier than blood.”

I looked up with a smile, sure Mom would laugh with me. We were friends even then. But as I met eyes that were colored precisely as mine were, they returned my gaze with disappointment and disapproval.

“Maybe he didn’t like being called names.” She told me. “Would you like it if someone did that to you?”

I wouldn’t, I decided, and after finishing my chores and returning to my room, I thought about Richard. He had bright red hair, and freckles were sprinkled across an incredibly friendly face. He had brothers, I think. He was a fair student, decent at sports, but not part of the popular crowd (which consisted of about 5 students in a 30 person class). I didn’t know him at all – had rarely spoken to him, and thought of him predominantly as playing the role of It in our recess game.

When we came outside for the next recess, I walked toward the swings instead of staying with Missy, venturing a smile at Richard.

“Why aren’t you playing?” She asked me, waving Richard away.

“I think it’s mean.” I told her, starting off aggressively, though I now realize it was a poor way to begin. “He doesn’t have boogers or blood on his hands! You wouldn’t like it if someone said that about you. So I don’t want to play your mean game.” Then I walked to the swings, lost in my own thoughts of righteousness.

If you’re thinking we’re both brats, don’t worry, I’m about to get mine.

I entered the bathroom during a break, and nobody was in either of the stalls. Instead, 20 girls crowded around the single sink to comfort Missy, who was rallying her troops since I had hurt her feelings. When I was spotted on the fringes of the crowd, not able to get to the sink area since it was packed with 7-year-old girls, angry female faces turned my way.

“Why were you mean to Missy?” Jill demanded loudly, eyes narrowed. Grumbles of agreement sounded unanimously from the group.

I took a step back. Nobody had ever said anything unkind to me before. Plus, I was right! Cowed but not conquered, I made my point.

“I wasn’t mean.” I said quietly, not aware that I probably had been. “I just said I didn’t want to play because I didn’t think the game was very nice. I wouldn’t like it if I were Richard, so I don’t want to play.”

They didn’t look swayed, and fully aware that I was losing, feeling attacked and without a plan, I began to cry. This swayed some girls, though probably not half. But being outnumbered is infinitely better than being alone. Any support at that time was welcome, and I remember the first girl that put her arms around me. Her name was Alesha, and we would become friends for the rest of second grade.

I was never invited to Missy’s house again – never to giggle around her brothers as I tried to learn to flirt, never to play Mousetrap in her bedroom again, never to ride bikes down the much superior hills around her house. We eventually formed an uneasy truce – not outwardly fighting, but there was residual tension that I came to associate with female friendships.

I apologized to Richard, which he graciously accepted, forgiving and kind far beyond my level of maturity. We danced together in gym for junior high ballroom lessons years later, both focused on the steps. He counted out loud and I remember thinking that he looked awkward, but was growing into handsome. I didn’t have much contact with him in high school, though we smiled and said hello.

One of his brothers saved my dad’s life when he had a heart attack 5 years ago. I stood in the ER, holding Dad’s hand, and his eyes rolled back. Richard’s brother, a nurse, I believe, was the one to call for help and set up the paddles. There wasn’t much past the terrified grief, but I briefly recognized him as I was pulled from the room. I held on to Brother in the hall and we watched Dad, heart beating again, get wheeled down the hall toward the surgical suite. Surrounded by doctors and hospital staff, I again thought ever so briefly of Richard when I saw his brother again.

I bring this up because a friend made me angry today. I retain so few personal relationships that I’m bitterly disappointed when someone upsets me needlessly. I sent her an email discussing a TV show – cute, funny, light – and rather than replying, she wrote a post on her website. One that disagreed with my points and placed text from my email squarely within her cute, light, funny post.

Except they weren’t her words to use – she’s unaware of this site and at last update, knew I preferred to keep my thoughts securely offline. That wish deserves enough respect to at least ask before using my email for her readers’ entertainment. Plus, it was condescending – even the half-hearted apology that was located near the end of her post was a pat on the head, like my feelings weren’t really all that important in her quest to write something that might incite laughter.

I could overreact – send her a nasty email explaining that she would not be hearing from me in that way again. If I was at all amusing to her during the day – thinking of something delightful and choosing to pass it along – she would spend her time unamused. I simply withdraw friendship when hurt or angry (which explains why I have so few friends), and that’s what I plan to do here. At least for awhile.

Because her actions reminded me of rallying the troops. Trying to get people on her side in the bathroom, crowded around the sink, in a discussion that somehow turned into a stupid argument about television. I’m hurt and I’m irritated. I’m not sure what to do with it, but writing it out helped.

It’s funny to me how little I’ve learned from the past. I hurt people without thinking, and end up yet again trying my best to make the Richards of the world – those charming, kind, wonderful people who somehow slip by without notice right away – feel better about my poor judgment. I still sometimes react too strongly to situations, hurting Missys needlessly in my zeal to right a wrong. I let my personal epiphany overpower any sort of gentle explanations and come on too strong.

In this case, right now? I sent an email that said “I sigh at you.” In retrospect, that was probably not the best way to handle it. But it’s better than claiming moral superiority and telling someone her long-time game is mean. So maybe I’m making progress, crawling toward being more enlightened and kind. At least I hope so, because how depressing is this otherwise?