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My mom and my sisters Kaori and Sana all enjoy telling the story of how Yuuma and I met to the point that I’m thinking it must be their favorite story about me. To me, there is only one good thing about it, and that’s what came of it, my friendship with Yuuma.
According to their words, it was a hot summer’s day in August. All the moms in the neighborhood had agreed to meet in the park and bring their children as everyone could get to know everyone. Not a lot of moms went. There were maybe 5 or 6, and all had brought their kids. Kaori and Sana occupied the swings with two other girls close to their age. I was 2 years old at the time, and certainly not interested in swinging and talking. There was nothing more boring. The girls my age stuck by the mom group and the older boys were playing on the climbing frame. There was only one boy my age, a small boy with dark hair who was drawing animals in the dirt with a stick. According to Kaori, I went and spoke to him.
“I’m Hiroto. I’m 2 years old,” I had said.
“I’m Yuuma. I’m also 2 years old,” the dark-haired boy had told me.
“What are you doing?” I had asked.
“Drawing animals,” Yuuma had said, pointing the shapes in the dirt out.
“That’s not cool,” I had said. “I’ll show you what’s cool.”
According to Kaori, I had then taken Yuuma to the climbing frame to play, or maybe show him what real playing was like. I don’t remember any of this now.
“We’re not big enough for this,” Yuuma had apparently protested, but either I hadn’t heard him, or just decided to ignore him. All I know is that I kept climbing until I lost my footing and quickly fell down, landing on my stomach somehow.
Sana and Kaori both agree I started crying immediately after, but before the adults could react, Yuuma was there, helping me sit and tending to my scraped knees and trying to comfort me, all at once. Then my mom came to pick me up from the ground. According to her, I cried all the way home and Yuuma followed us along with his mom. I have no memory of this, but apparently this was when everyone but me learned how close our houses were.
I would see Yuuma later on when our moms met on the street and started talking. Then Yuuma and I started daycare together. He was just as weird and quiet and preferred drawing or looking at picture books to running around outside.
I don’t need help remembering what happened next. Not knowing anyone else, I decided to join Yuuma in drawing on the first day.
“I thought you said it wasn’t cool,” Yuuma said quietly.
“It’s cooler than falling,” I had said, feeling very uncool at that moment.
“Everyone falls and cries,” Yuuma had said then. “My dad says that the strongest people are those who are not afraid to show when they’re hurting.” He then put away the last crayon and handed me his drawing. “Here,” he said.
I remember that drawing. It looks like two circles, a yellow and a dark brown one with arms and legs, standing on a climbing frame like the one at the playground in the park, holding hands. I keep it in a drawer in my desk. To me, that is the symbol of our friendship. It would take us around three more years before we could climb to the top like in the drawing and name ourselves the kings of the climbing frame.
