by Gina Macdonald

Created on: December 14, 2008

A Sliver of Silver

One of the strangest moments of my life occurred on a bright, sunny day in the park across the street from my house. During the summer, I would go there almost every day, and play with other children I would meet. We usually did not know each others' names, but still became good friends in the two or three hours we had. Sometimes we would even find ourselves defending our new friends against other children in the park. I remember one such incident vividly.

One day, when I was about 10 years old, I noticed a band of gypsies camped in the park. I was near the tire swing, and a boy from the gypsy camp was digging in the sand. Thinking I could make a new friend, I asked what he was doing. He replied that he was looking for a silver fork that he had lost. I asked if he needed any help looking for it. He said yes, and we began to search for the fork. In the next three hours, we searched through the whole park methodically. During this time, he talked about his experiences, and I shared some of my own. We became good friends in that short time.

I remember one part of the day clearly. We had been searching for the fork for a while and we were back near the tire swing. Some other children were on it, and we had come dangerously close to being hit. After they had stopped swinging, they started making fun of the gypsy boy. I found myself defending him, this boy that I had just met, this boy that I had become friends with, this boy that I knew next to nothing about. Almost as soon as I started, the incident was over. We resumed the search for the fork, but sadly could not find it.

Soon the boy said that he had to leave. He thanked me for my help, both in searching for the fork, and for defending him. He walked over to the bench where his mother was sitting, and started explaining to her what we had been doing for the past three hours. I could hear some of what he was saying, and could tell that he was talking about me. His mom said something that I couldn't hear, and handed him a small object. He came back over to where I was, and handed me a silver bracelet. He thanked me again for helping him, and said that this was a token of his gratitude. I didn't really want to take it, but he insisted.

Suddenly, I looked at my watch and realized it was time for me to go home. I waved goodbye to the boy and his mother, and began the short walk back, pondering over what had just occurred. When I arrived home, I put the bracelet on a shelf in my room, where it sits, to this day. Every once in a while I glance at it and remember the gypsy boy, and wonder if he remembers me as well. I've often caught myself looking for a glint of silver in the sand as I pass the playground where I spent that afternoon, making a new friend, and a memory that will last a lifetime.

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