Throughout my youth, I always struggled with individualism. I found myself being self-reliant and cognitive, which was unlike the sociable fixation of my peers. I struggled with speaking and restricted myself to a most reclusive level of inclusivity. While other students collaborated, I secluded myself within the matted classrooms, often emanating with the unforgiving swelter of Watauga, Texas. I had a fondness for education, but no ambition to pursue it; my mind was too overtaken by the dread of interaction. I remember watching kids laugh, play, talk about their mornings, and look forward to lunch; I hated lunch.

My peers would swiftly walk single file to the cafeteria, excited to converse with their friends. Unfortunately, I was quite the opposite. I would begrudgingly walk down the drafted halls, a strange contrast to the stuffy classrooms. As I neared the cafeteria, crowds grew thicker and voices louder, a deafening attribution towards my already anxious mindset. Amongst what seemed like hundreds of tables, I resided within the only one vacant. I was a skinny child, and my peckish nature was only amplified by my desolation, often leading me to not eat at all. I didn’t enjoy being alone but was unaware of how to change it. Every attempt I made at societal integration was met with either negligence, disdain, or insolence. I learned to accept this persona: I was the quiet kid. My ratty exterior combined with my seclusion was frowned upon, but I knew nothing else.

As days grew colder and longer, the early days of November masked the lush greenery of our schoolyard with a mesquite-like fragrance. Winter was coming; the wind turned crisp and brumal. Ironically, it wasn’t until the harsh frigidity of winter-like conditions that I was met with the warm embrace of comradery. Ayden was a year above me and had just flown in from Michigan. Upon joining our class, he chose the seat next to me, which was predictably unoccupied, given the only seats empty were the ones at my table. At first glance Ayden seemed relatively arrogant, his fo-hawk sprung up from his blonde hair, which was gelled backward; he wore a Columbia jacket with Nike shorts, despite the temperature of 45 degrees. However, I wasn’t one to object, considering my lack of friends. He plopped into his chair only to immediately reach out his hand and introduce himself. “Ayden Coultes,” he remarked confidently. I was absolutely staggered, how could somebody have this level of extroversion? As his eyes fixated on my hand, I realized my lack of reciprocation and reached out towards him with an awkward “Matthew Jones.” This brief interaction was inevitably cut off by the teacher’s introduction of Ayden to the students in my class, who welcomed him with an audible “Hello!” Instantaneously, I was flooded with envy. I had never experienced such recognition from my peers, and for him to obtain it so easily was unfathomable to me. 

As the day passed, I found myself enjoying Ayden’s company. Although his presence was solemn with little conversation, it was nice to be acknowledged. It wasn’t long before this formality diminished into the chaos that is the cafeteria; the dreaded noise could be heard for what felt like miles. Yells and laughs emerged through reverberant conversations which echoed throughout the entirety of our school. With reluctance, I walked towards what would normally be my despondency; I dragged my hand against the wall, letting the harsh popcorn-like exterior grate my knuckles. It wasn’t until I reached the corridor funneling into the cafeteria that I noticed something odd; Ayden was sitting alone, at my table. Overtaken with dismay and apprehension, I stumbled over to the table, gripping my bag tightly over my shoulder. It didn’t take long for him to predict my presence; at the first notice of me walking over, he swiftly removed his backpack from the table, as if to welcome me to sit with him. I was happy to see someone at my table but unaware of how to present myself. I ran a hundred scenarios through my head before sitting, but before I could say a word he immediately exclaimed “Hey Matt!” 

I didn’t know then, but that was only the beginning of a flourishing friendship, one that persisted all throughout elementary school. I found hope in myself through the sociability of others. I ignited a newfound perception of my environment, growing to understand individuals are not pivoted against me, but instead were just unaware of my troubled lonesome. I have grown to express my problems and share my experiences with others. Cognizance is no longer a limitation, but an opportunity; I can attribute both my perseverance and communicativeness towards Ayden Coultes; the co-founder of my confidence, and my best friend.