Sandcastles and Football
“Will you play in the sandbox with me?” she requests, offering me an extra tiny pink pail. Her eyes are chocolate brown and her smile is infectious.
I am about to say yes.
But she’s a girl.
She obviously has cooties.
Of course I don’t like her.
“No.” I say instead and run off to play football with my older brothers.
But when I reach, my brothers say I’m too young to play and only use me to bring back balls that fly out of the playground. It’s boring, and not as fun as building sandcastles. But at least, I am playing with boys. We don’t have cooties.
My oldest brother is the meanest and he kicks the hardest. I hate it when he kicks because I have to run all the way to the end of the park to retrieve the football.
Sure enough, he sends the ball soaring across the playground. My middle brother looks at me expectantly and gestures towards the ball.
“I’ll get it.” I say and rush off to look for the ball.
My brother may have sent the ball to another galaxy, because I couldn’t find it anywhere. But what I did find, was the little sandbox girl crying beside the sandbox as a bigger boy, much bigger than me knocked down her sandcastle.
“Stop that you big bully!” I yell and pull at his fat arms. He is strong and pushes back, sending me flying to the ground.
The little girl calls for help, but it is late in the evening, and at this part of the playground, there are only kids, kids like the little girl, too scared and too young to help.
It rests on me to save the world from this mean bully.
I do what I do best, what runs in my family, I kick him on the shin.
The big bad bully starts to cry and I feel mean, but the other kids are cheering and the little girl is smiling. And then after the bully runs off to complain to his mother, the little girl suddenly springs up to hug me.
“Thank you.” she says as she suffocates me. Although it feels oddly nice, I push her away gently.
After all she is a girl and everyone knows girls have cooties.
“No problem.” I say, standing straighter so I am at least a foot taller than her.
“Will you play in the sandbox with me tomorrow?” she asks hopefully.
It’s hard to refuse. But my boyhood code of honour allows for only that.
“No.” I say and regret it instantly as she lowers her head in disappointment. “But you can play football with me if you like.”
Her eyes light up like firecrackers at New Year’s and she hugs me again. It’s more comfortable this time, and since I find a way to breathe, I do not push her away.
I say goodbye to her when her father comes to pick her up after a while, and my frantic older brothers come along to take me home.
“Where’d you run off to kiddo?” asks my oldest brother as we takes my hand and starts walking. “You had us worried sick.”
“I couldn’t find the ball.” I explain.
“Forget the ball. Are you okay? You look like you fell down.” says my middle brother while dusting off my pants.
“I fought a bully. And won!” I say triumphantly.
“Someone’s bullying you?” demand my brothers instantly.
“Not me, the sandbox girl.“I say as we continue walking.
“Sandbox girl?” they ask perplexed.
“Sandbox girl.” I confirm.
“Looks like shorty has a girlfriend.” concludes my middle brother. He laughs at my scowl and ruffles my hair.
“Is it bad?” I ask and both of them stop to laugh at me.
“Not bad at all, kiddo. You’re just growing up.” says my eldest brother sagely. He is sixteen so he probably knows about this stuff. “It happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah it’s okay. However, as your closest relatives, we reserve the right to make fun of you for the rest of your life.” cackles my middle brother. He may be fourteen, but I swear he gets more annoying each year.
If I am honest I don’t mind if my brothers crack jokes, it seems that’s the worst they will ever do. Besides if I want them to stop, I only need to tell Mom.
I am only six, but I think I like Sandbox Girl.
Because I don’t care if she’s a girl or if she has cooties. I want to be her friend.
#slice-of-life
#first love