I am four years old and in kindergarten (ABCs level). Ma'am Lilibeth, our supervisor, is ending our class at 12 noon, so she gathers and calls for us to close the day with a prayer. I don't remember who is leading the prayer, but I remember folding my hands, glancing at Johan, a little boy I have a huge crush on. You know what they say: girls tend to mature a little faster than boys. He once peed in class while we were saying our closing prayer, but I didn't mind.
"I raise my hands," Ma'am Lilibeth begins.
"And close like this," we all chime in, "and bow our heads and close our eyes and pray."
We all squeeze our eyes shut but I feel my large plastic ring slip from my finger. It's a magenta plastic frog ring that came from a one-peso Esep-esep snack, a flavorless corn puff snack that I only buy for the little trinkets inside. I hear the light plastic hit the floor. I keep my eyes shut, hearing only the excited shuffling of feet beside me, and the rest of the class mumbling Ma'am Lilibeth's prayer.
"Amen," we all say together, and I pry my eyes open, starting to look around the floor for signs of my ring. Johan gives me a nudge, holding out my ring—like a proposal, I think.
I replay that moment in my head over and over again, like hard candy in my mouth, as my dad and I walk home from school. Tomorrow, we can walk to school together, I excitedly think, knowing my dad and I usually pass by their apartment in the morning. I give the ring a little twist on my finger, sealing my daydream, like it were a plan.
Johan's dad and my dad would chat, walking their bikes through the narrow creekside, as Johan and I lead the way, passing through the creek bridges, and counting the pink snail eggs sticking to the sides of the creek walls.
At school, Johan usually treats me like a stranger, running around, playing shark with the rest of the boys, climbing up the slide, and roaring as if sharks make a sound underwater. Why boys do that, I do not know.
"Who do you like more," I hear a classmate tease Johan inside the empty church hall where we usually gather when we don't have classes. "Poyen or Aine?"
I hear my name and shoot them a look, half-expecting Johan to say my name. Didn't he pick up my ring from the floor? It must be me, I think.
"Poyen," he says, shaking his head as if the question is ridiculous.
The bell rings, and I blink back hot tears, watching the rest of our classmates exit the hall.
Of course he'd pick Poyen, my best friend with long, shiny, jet black hair that falls down to her waist. My short and wavy hair bouncing on my shoulders could never compare. I look down at my plastic ring and pull it from my finger. I feel a lump in my throat as I admire the ring, wondering why he picked it up from the floor when he didn't like me anyway.
Of course he'd choose Poyen.
Once, when Johan was annoyed with us, he told me to leave him alone or he'd turn me into a frog. When Poyen came, he said he was going to turn her into a princess.
I watch the last student leave before I throw the ring across the hall like they do in the movies when the girl tries to forget the boy she likes. The plastic ring makes an unimpressive, silent landing on the red, polished concrete flooring.
Not far enough, I think.
I skip to the ring, pick it up, and throw it again as far as I can, tears finally rolling down my cheeks.
A/N: This memory is so funny to me, but thanks for reading one of my many core memories! As I explained in my previous entry, I'm trying to write down memories before I forget them—I don't want to grow old and only have a few stories left to retell.