Millions of memories envelope me everyday.

Whether they give me a pat on the back, give me a pep talk and let me partake in the day,

Or yell their name as loudly as they can if I so much as ignore them for 1 second.

1 stands out from the rest, which I recognize as nothing more than pure insanity which delgihts.

8th Grade

Earth Science

A substitute sits there at her desk, probably sleeping or just out of it.

In the back is where I lay alongside two other members in my group

These people long time friends of mine to be sure,

A sleep deprived sub + these 2 people = a surprise to be sure.

After a bit into the class, I go to the bathroom and do my business.

Once I come back I notice one incredible thing gone,

One near and dear to my heart. 

My eraser.

And this was no ordinary eraser either.

Did this eraser have any spiritual or memorable connection to me you may be asking?

No, even better,

It was BLACK (different = cool).

And my friends had just hidden somewhere for me to hunt down like some sort of twisted scavenger hunt. 

I look all over the classroom.

The desks, on the shelves, in the sink, but to no avail.

It certainly wasn’t helping that both of my friends were giggling like a bunch of middle schoolers (oh wait we were in middle school).

Alas, I was stumped… But wait!

What if they hid it somewhere on their person.

I searched their front pockets their back pockets, their backpacks, hell I even searched their front t-shirt pockets (seriously what is that for?)

But alas I have come to another block in my path, I don’t think I could get past this one.

I yielded and saw my self off to my chair.

“Should we tell him?” One of the goons said giggling.

“Yea sure” Said the other.

And alas I found the answer to the question that had been eating me for the past 30 minutes…

IT WAS IN HIS SHOE!?!?!?

To my complete shock and disbelief one of the numnuts pulled it out of his shoe, snickering like a wild dog.

I quickly snatched it out of his hand and looked at it as you would a wounded puppy.

Franticly, I sniffed it, and let the smell set it in. it smelt like a ham sandwich. 

While I took the moment to recuperate, my friends were dying of laughter, snickering to themselves like a bunch of baboons (I swear I like my friends).

After said recuperating, I then promptly softly carresed each of their faces (I slapped them).

They didn’t seem to care.

In hindsight, I look at this tale with a sort of fondness

The same type of fondness as looking at derpy pictures of your 7 year old self.

Maybe it was for the best though, as that eraser stood with me for far longer than any other (until sophomore year to be exact).

Perhaps the power of friendship blessed my eraser with a luster that would last…

Or maybe it was a practical joke by god.