Moment One: Tough Love

Kitarini has been my other half since she found me sprawled out on the playground back in reception. You see, since my legs were growing faster than my feet, I was an extremely clumsy child, so much so that for a fleeting moment my parents figured dyspraxia. And there was nothing more challenging than the obstacle course of discarded balls, hoops and bats that I was flung into twice a day. The time that Kitty coincided with me was one when I’d been running, eager to consume my lunch, to the food hall. It was a cone that’d tripped me: a wide, orange pyramid – the colour of hellfire. The monster tackled my tangled legs and threw me down, leaving its mark in the form of two vast crimson grazes on my bare knees. I slumped there on my butt for a minute, stunned. Then a rich, well-oiled voice cut through.

“Are you alright?” It queried.

“Yes.” I asserted grimly, though I was shaken and pain emanated from multiple injuries.

“No you’re not.” That stubborn kid said.

At this point I’d looked up and seen a small girl with a dark bob and fringe, whom I vaguely recognised from circle time. She’d always had something awkward to ask, like the typical “where do babies come from?” She always got her answer eventually, because she never gave up.

“I am.” I said again, attempting to match her determination.

“No. You’re not. You’re not alright.”

“I’m fine.” I enunciated, wishing she’d leave off. Though, in truth, the back-and-forth was doing wonders for keeping my mind off the hurting.

But it went on. “You’re not.” She stated.

“I am.” I countered.

“You’re not”, “I am”, “you’re not”, “I am”, “you’re not”, until a teacher came over to see what all the commotion was about. Ironically, my contemporary rival was what had kept them from witnessing my plight. We’d argued all the way to the medical room, until our bickering dissolved into giggling as most Primary girls’ did. From that event on, we’d gradually become better acquainted, snatching pockets of conversation here and there, until the seed of friendship was irreversibly sown in one-another’s fields.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s