Only Young Once

Clearly, I have cookies on the brain. I hope this entry is up to the high standards of my readers though I did try to give it a more youthful tone.

My mother tells me that I should be young while I can. That I think too deeply for a young girl. I even use words that other kids in my class haven’t learned yet. I just smile when she reminds me of this. I feel just as young as every other girl in my class and more light-hearted than some.

I can make that statement with certainty because I see it every day. One girl in particular has aged far beyond our years. The same gloom surrounds her that surrounds our neighbor Mrs. Cranston when she talks about friends and family that have passed away. Mother says it is sweet of me to visit the lonely, old lady next door. Sometimes, she even helps me bake cookies to share with Mrs. Cranston. Those mood-lifting cookies gave me the idea.

What idea? I want to share the joy of being young with the gloomy girl. If I can disperse the darkness around Lydie for just one day, I think she’ll remember how it feels to be young. I know giving her a full day is probably beyond my skill level, being that I am so young, only ten years old, but a smile should be easy to create.

So I find myself working hard in the hopes of just one smile. Bowls, measuring cups, storage canisters, and plastic bags cluster around my workspace. Flour covers most of the other surfaces of the kitchen. Even my face must be ghostly white judging by the surprised look on my mother’s face.

“Malinda, what…?” She can’t find the words, but I know the question.

“I’m making some cookies for a girl at school.”

“You should have asked.” Stern wrinkles crease her forehead and the corners of her mouth.

“But I wanted to make them myself.” I explain, mixing the thick batter one last time before setting the bowl down on the counter.

My mother surveys the ingredients for a second before she steps forward to dip one finger in the dough. As she brings it to her lips, she pauses. Her eyes scan the ingredients laid out on the table anxiously. Then she opens her mouth and takes a tentative bite of the dough. She closes her eyes, contemplating.

“That’s quite good.” She looks surprised. “Your friend is a lucky girl.”

I beam. “Thank you.”

She smiles. “I guess I can help clean up if you let me have a few cookies.”

I nod agreement, grabbing the cookie scoop and doling out the dough onto baking sheets. The oven dings just as the last glob of dough plops into place.

~

The next morning drags on as I wait for lunch. If I produce the cookies at any other time, the teacher will confiscate them or the other kids will clamor to get one. Anxiety builds in my chest and the depths of my stomach to the point that I know I won’t be able to eat my lunch.

Finally, we line up for lunch. The teacher’s shrewd eyes warn against any funny business as she glances back over her tail of children from time to time. The occasional giggle brings her eyes back to us, but any amusement quickly fades under such scrutiny. She opens the door to the cafeteria, ushering us into its expanse before taking her preferred spot along the wall. She leans against it as she keeps watch over us.

Every child must choose a seat carefully. Where we sit shows a lot about who we are. Usually, I sit with a few select friends, but they don’t notice when I walk past them and take one of the empty seats surrounding Lydie. She looks up startled then looks away.

“You don’t have to sit here.” Her voice cracks as she speaks.

“I want to.” I reassure her, placing my lunch box on the table with finality.

She looks up again as I sit down, questioning me with her eyes. “Why?”

“I made something for you.” I smile reassuringly.

She looks back at me suspiciously. Then her eyes dart around the room. Reassured that no one observes us, she turns her attention to my hands. Suddenly nervous, my hands fumble with the clasp. I breathe a sigh of relief as I finally undo it. Reaching inside, I produce a plastic bag full of cookies.

“No, thank you.” Her brooding frown deepens.

I return her frown, opening the bag. “We can share them.”

As I lift a cookie to my mouth, she watches hungrily. I push the bag across the table to her. She takes a cookie tentatively in between two fingers. Her nose wrinkles at the sweet aroma and she inhales deeply. As she takes the first bite, her eyes close. She sighs softly.

“It’s delicious. Thank you.”

She still hasn’t smiled, but some barrier inside her has melted. She begins to talk. We exchange questions and answers. I almost make her laugh a few times. She succeeds in causing me to giggle on more than one occasion. The cookies disappear slowly as we slide the bag back and forth across the table.

As she lifts the last chocolate chip cookie to her mouth, a smile finally breaks through. “Thanks for being my friend today.”

I smile back at her. “Thanks for letting me.” I pause for a second as emotions well up inside my chest. 

“Can I be your friend again tomorrow?”

She nods her head as tears flow down her cheeks.