It was like any other Friday night.
My friend Maggie and I were having a sleepover at her house, talking about
things that happened at school that week and giggling while eating movie-butter
popcorn. After a while, we came to an agreement that we would play a short game
of Apples to Apples before bed and she rummaged under her bed, trying to find
the box.
A confused look crossed her face and
she pulled something out from under the bed, but it wasn’t Apples to Apples: it
was a Barbie car. We looked at each other and smiled, a shared memory passing
between us. I remembered when Maggie first got that Barbie car. We were both
eight years old at the time, and I thought it was the coolest toy in the world.
Since it was a new toy, she wouldn’t let me play with it, and we got into a
fight. She yanked my hair; I scratched her; I’m pretty sure she actually bit me
at one point. A few minutes later, he mother walked in and demanded that we
stop, telling Maggie that we needed to take turns with the new Barbie car. We
both grudgingly agreed, but after half an hour of taking turns with the toy, it
was as though the argument never happened.
Because of this Barbie car, our
friendship had grown stronger and our ability to work past petty arguments
increased. Maggie smiled and slid the Barbie car right back under her bed, and
I knew at that moment that it was one toy she would never, ever get rid of. It
represented the lasting friendship between us, and that was something neither
of us was willing to sacrifice.
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