There was a boy named Tim in my fourth grade class. He was a short boy with flame red hair and freckles covered every inch of his skin. He was notoriously obnoxious and was categorized by his mischievous tendencies. It was just my luck that we were chosen to be lab partners for the year. Every time we were given a project, he would mess something up, or get the wrong answers. This bothered me to no end, so I would insist on doing all of the work, leaving him to his own devices.
One day about a month later, I was unfortunate enough to forget my lunch money. Luckily for me, it was Tim’s birthday. His mother brought in cupcakes to share with all of Tim’s class mates. What an opportune time to forget a lunch, I though. As she was passing them out, someone stopped her and asked her why Tim was covered in freckles. She smiled and said—in so many words—that every freckle was representative of an angle kiss. I laughed out loud. Naturally, I was sent to stand in the hallway for my less-than-graceful outburst.
The year dragged on and I continued to work alone on our labs, but not grudgingly. Tim and I had become a team. He would talk endlessly about random subjects: firemen, power rangers, Jedi warriors. After a while, I started listening. He was actually very funny, and some of the things he had to say were quiet interesting. Needless to say, he started to grow on me.
It was the middle of the school year, and the PTO had set up a school store in the cafeteria. It was filled with toys, school supplies, etc. So instead of buying a Twix bar that day, I bought a key chain. It was an orange flower with a yellow smiley face in the center. I displayed it proudly on my backpack for all to see. I got several compliments upon my return to class. We took our seats and I pulled off the key-chain and put it on my desk, gleaming with novelty. Then Tim came in. I watched his eyes light up when he found the key-chain. He sat down and asked if he could see it. I obliged him. Tim and I had established a friendship of sorts, and I trusted him with my things. After playing with the flower for a few minutes, he asked if he could borrow it to show to his friend at home. I made him promise to return it to me the next day, and then naively let him take it home that afternoon. Unsurprisingly, I did not see it the next day, or the day after that. I asked Tim for it every day for about a month and never saw it. Was I devastated? Hardly. Rather, I was disappointed in Tim. I had been kind of rooting for him in my head, hoping that he would remember one day, and bring it back to me like the responsible boy I knew he could be. I had just about given up when one day, Tim came bounding into class with a big smile on his face. He marched right up to me, holding his hands behind his back. Neither of us said anything as he revealed the long-lost key-chain. I couldn’t believe it; Tim had brought it back perfectly intact, without a scratch on it. I was so overcome with pride that I jumped up and hugged him in front of the whole class. I realized later that I wasn’t just proud of him for remembering, I was proud of myself for believing in him—something that people rarely did with Tim.
To this day, I’m glad I met Tim, because he taught me a very valuable lesson: sometimes, it can actually be safe to trust a ginger.
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