Various key-chains attached to my small colorful backpack swayed back and forth as I walked side by side with my mother up the uniform concrete walkway that led to Matt’s front door. Not two seconds after we rang the doorbell, the thick red door swung open to reveal a cheerful Mrs. W. Although Matt and I had been friends for several years, I knew little about Mrs. W, besides her obsession with knitting during winter season and tendency to spend hours playing Animal Crossing on Matt’s GameCube. She greeted us, and I routinely and impatiently stood by the door for several minutes while my mother and Mrs. W spoke of adult matters and laughed at lame jokes that I, as a seven-year-old, found no humor in. When their conversation finally seemed to dwindle down, Mom bent down to give me a light forehead kiss and reminded me to “behave myself”.

As she turned to walk back to her car, Mrs. W called out a “Take care now!” before silently and kindly shutting the heavy door. “Matt’s upstairs in his room, sweetie,” she informed me gingerly, “and I have a batch of cookies in the oven that should be ready in a few minutes.”
“Okay, thank you,” was my simple, polite reply before I darted up the carpeted staircase to Matt’s room, hands clasped to both straps of my backpack.

“Hey!” I boomed upon entering the sea of Legos, Bionicles, and Beanie Babies that was Matt’s room. Matt had his back turned and was sitting in his desk placed in the far left corner of the room.

“Howdy!” he replied. My backpack landed with a mild thud on his bedroom floor as I skipped over to the desk and peered over his shoulder.

He was working on a comic, an interest him and I both shared.

“That a new comic?” I questioned upon the unfamiliar looking sketches.

“Yup,” he answered plainly before jumping out of his seat towards a pile of toys scattered on the other side of the room; I scampered behind him. We routinely began building landscapes with the various Lego blocks and creating plots for our Lego men and Bionicles to fulfill.

Laying in close proximity was a particular Lego man of Matt’s that I had always been fond of. His face was decorated with a monocle and a plump jet black mustache above his genuine smile. He was equipped with a boxy tuxedo body and a shiny top hat to match. I seemed to appreciate the Lego man far more than Matt ever had. After all, I had never seen Matt include him in our stories and he seemed lonely and unappreciated laying there on the toy-camouflaged carpet floor.

The scent of Mrs. W’s fresh baked, homemade chocolate chip cookies wafted up to the second floor as the oven timer chimed and Matt’s mom called “Cookies are ready!” from the kitchen downstairs.

“Cookies!” Matt replied excitedly as he made a dash out his room and towards the stairs. He halted at the top of the staircase and glanced back towards me, “You coming, Dani?” he questioned.

“Yeah, I just have to go to the bathroom first,” I lied.

He continued his gallop down the stairs and replied, “Okay,” as I quickly snatched the tuxedo Lego man from his spot on the floor and sent him plummeting down into the dark abyss of my backpack.

Matt and I sat quietly at the wooden kitchen table eating our cookies. I grabbed another from the mass pile placed on the large porcelain plate and dipped it gently in my glass of milk as I imagined all the stories I could create for the Lego man trapped within the confines of my backpack. Among the stories though, another thought seemed to creep into my mind as the porcelain plate grew more and more cookie-less— what I come to know now as guilt. What if Matt missed the Lego man? What if the Lego man missed Matt? Then, a realization amongst the childish thoughts: I was stealing the Lego man. The word sounded dirty, horrid, and cruel.

After our cookie feast, Matt and I continued playing upstairs in his room. I tried to casually return the Lego man to his home on the floor, but I soon realized this could not be done without Matt realizing my attempted kidnap of the Lego man. We continued playing as my guilt grew stronger and stronger. Just when I thought the guilt was ready to consume my very soul, a chime of the doorbell signaled my mother’s return. “Awe,” Matt whimpered at the sound. Normally, Matt and I would find a hiding place away from our mothers to delay my departure, but today I anxiously submitted to her arrival.

I sat in the cozy backseat of my mother’s silver Mitsubishi Montero, staring blankly at my once friendly, but now threatening backpack beside me. I opened it and peered into the dark crevice at the sad bright yellow Lego man trapped within. I zipped it back up quickly. My guilt stabbed my subconscious and shrunk my train of thought; I knew I would never play with him.