When I was younger, around 4th grade, I used to be a fairly social kid. I had a great amount of friends, despite my awkwardness.

One day, someone found (what everyone believed at the time) a sand dollar in a sand pit on the school field. He was passing it around and showing our group of friends. When it got to me, I did the obvious.

I broke it. Accidentally.

The guy who found it started crying. And one of the guys came up to me and shouted, “You’re out of the group!” And then they walked away.

Just like that, I was outcasted.

They all resented me. I spent most of recess aimlessly walking around instead of talking to the friends I used to have. Sometimes, I’d go back to the pit and spend all of my time outside digging and searching for another “sand dollar”. Anything to get back my friends. I never found one.

At the end of the year, we had our “Moving On from Elementary School” ceremony. The group of guys refused to shake my hand. And we went our separate ways.

From that day on, I became known as “that shy one” or “the mute”. I’d sit at the lunch table in 5th grade and not say a word. I’d sit outside in the courtyard without and stare into space.

That year, I was bullied out of the school and transferred to a new one. There, I met her. The only person who’d talk to the mute at lunch. She introduced me to her friends. And we’d talk and laugh and whine about our middle school problems. 

At this point, I’ve forgotten what a friend was. Experiencing it again was a breakthrough for me. I came back home everyday with a smile on my face.

I felt… happy again. And I still do, 4 years later.

But. Sometimes, like now, I look back to the 4th grade. I re-witness the events on that day where my social life collapsed.

And then, I bring it back to the present. I worry that it’ll happen again. I’ll break that sand dollar.

And once again, I’ll lose them.