Why do I struggle to keep friends?
Society
“Last but not least, Ellie Rosen and Martina Lizzeri.” As my second grade teacher, Ms. Turner, finished reading aloud the table groups, she finally read my name and said, “You two will be at the island table.” Initially, I was upset about my table placement because the island table was isolated from the rest of the classroom, but as soon as Ellie and I sat down and started talking, we became friends. After two months, our rotation at the island table was completed, and from drawing with Ms. Turner’s colorful pencils, to talking on the bleachers at recess and playdates everyday after school, we were inseparable.
My friendship with Ellie only escalated after second grade: in third grade, we shared cubbies together, fourth grade, we created iMovie trailers, in fifth grade, we visited each other during the COVID-19 lockdown, and, in sixth grade, we hung out everyday after school. However, on Tuesday, February 16th of sixth grade, Ellie would not talk to me.
I first tried making her laugh by cracking a joke in social studies after Sam, the boy she liked, fell out of his seat, but she turned away and did not respond. Later, in an attempt to spark a conversation, I asked her if we could walk home together after school, to which she replied, “Uh, we’ll see,” even though I knew she did not have plans. During lunch, Ellie ran to the bathroom so I followed her, but she shut the door in my face. I waited outside, and when Ellie opened the door, her eyes were red, with tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Ellie, are you alright?” I asked.
She sighed and responded, “Yeah it’s whatever. Let’s just go back to lunch.” Later that day, our physical education teacher was sick, and our substitute gave us a free
period, so Ellie and I sat on the bleachers. I began telling her that my family was planning on moving out of our apartment, which meant that we would no longer live on the same block. Her eyes flooded with tears.
I gave her a hug and said, “Ellie, we are still going to be able to hang out after school.” Sobbing, she told me, “Martina, there’s no point in that. Last night, my parents told me that we are moving to California.”
I felt my heart beating faster. I understood what she was saying, but choosing to ignore it, I asked, “What do you mean move? Like, for the summer?”
“No, Martina. Not for the summer. For next year.”
I acted oblivious. “Oh, so for next year, you are moving, and then after that, you will come back?”
“My parents said it’s really possible that we’ll stay there until I graduate high school.” High school? That seemed like lightyears away. Tears came to my eyes, and I started to have trouble breathing. Part of me was mad at Ellie. How could she just accept something like that? What about our plans for seventh grade? What about our memorial day weekend sleepovers? Would we never go to CVS and buy pounds of junk food to later finish while watching Outer Banks again? I thought about everything we typically did together, and spent the rest of that period crying, embracing Ellie in my arms.
I feared Ellie’s departure knowing that we would no longer become isolated together. However, isolated from each other. Saying goodbye to Ellie Rosen was one of the most difficult things I have ever done: I was hyperventilating, my cheeks drowning in tears and snot running down my face. The chapter of my life that was filled with Ellie’s familiar laughter and hugs was over.
After three months of summer vacation, I dreaded my return to school. On the first day of seventh grade, I had the same initial feeling of disorientation that I had in second grade, but this time, I did not have Ms. Turner’s table groups to help me. I still remember how I felt upon realizing the possibility that no one would ever want to be friends with me as much as Ellie did in second grade. I had spent the last five years with a permanent partner in every possible activity, but in seventh grade, when my teachers said, “partner up,” I was unsure of which way to turn my head, scared that I would not make eye contact with anyone, and have to be partners with the teacher.
A nice girl named Rowan took the risk of inviting me to her lunch table, but I felt guilty, worried that I was betraying Ellie by making new friends; my new lunch table was nothing like our island table. Eventually, I came to the conclusion that I did not have to replicate my friendship with Ellie in order to be happy at school. In fact, once Rowan introduced me to her social circle. I realized that there were many people in my grade that I never truly gotten to know. Because of how much I secluded myself with Ellie. I no longer felt guilty making new friends, knowing that my newfound traditions with Rowan, like playing foosball after school, or making pancakes at her house, did not make my memories with Ellie disappear.
The pain Ellie caused me on Tuesday, February 16th has been very useful to my personal growth: I can now confidently enter a new environment, knowing that if I adapted in seventh grade, I will be able to do it again. I know what it is like to feel alone, and how much of a difference an invite to a lunch table can make, so I always try to feel empathy for those around me, considering the possibility that maybe they, too, have a reason for being lonely.
Rowan and Ellie are currently my two best friends. And though I will always miss Ellie’s presence in New York. I know that if Ellie had never moved, I would not have sat down at
Rowan’s lunch table, and the endless conversations while playing foosball that have forever changed my morals would have never happened. Since my conversation with Ellie in sixth grade, I take advantage of moments with the people I love. Knowing that my time with them is limited and that anyone could sit me down on the bleachers and tell me they are moving.
