Guilt is a funny thing. When you are a child, something as small as stealing a no.2 pencil at school can send your young mind spiraling.

I thought about it all day. How could I do such a thing? I would hate it if someone had stolen my pencil. I was so sad when someone had stolen my special red crayon. That pencil’s eraser was just so much better than mine. It wasn’t fresh, so it didn’t smear my drawings, but it wasn’t overly used either, so the metal edges housing the eraser wouldn’t have scraped the paper. Someone probably thought something just like that when they had stolen my special red crayon.

It was on my mind even when I went next door to see my babysitter, a sixteen year old boy named Jeff. Jeff had the best room. It had lots of cool pictures of people holding katanas on his wall, his own t.v., a couch, and even his own Nintendo 64. That was the best part.

Dad had his own Nintendo 64 at his house, too. We would play Donkey Kong for hours at a time. I couldn’t play on Dad’s game anymore. He was into the really hard levels. But I had thought of a for sure victory plan, I was going to train at Jeff’s house every day after school until I was even better than Dad.

That day, Jeff had an idea. He invited me to lay down with him on the couch. Even with my small six year old body, there wasn’t enough room for us to lay side by side, so he had me lay with my head on his chest. Dad and I had snuggled like that all the time. It always made me so sleepy.

“If you’re going to be using my N64 so much, then it’s only fair if you do something for me, okay,” he asked, stroking my hair.

I looked up at him, “and then I can train to beat Dad?”

He nodded and took my hand, slowly moving it down into his pants. “What do you feel?” He asked.

I was confused. Why did he need my hand in there of all places? “I feel…something smooth…and maybe long?”

“Good,” he said, “if you pet that for a little while, I’ll play Donkey Kong with you. You can even be Diddy Kong.”

I thought it was such a weird thing to ask for, but if it meant I could train to be better than Dad, then it was easy enough. Something about it made me feel uneasy. Why did I feel like I was doing something wrong? Was I making a mistake? Ten minutes hadn’t even passed when I asked if we could play Donkey Kong yet.

As promised, we played, but a lump started forming in my throat. I had just done something horrible, I could feel it. My chest felt tight thinking about it.

Later that night, as Mom was tucking me in, I couldn’t hold it any longer. “Mom, I stole a No.2 pencil at school, and I put my hand in Jeff’s pants so I could play the Nintendo. I’m really sorry, will you forgive me?” I felt like I was about to cry, waiting for her to yell at me.

At first, she looked shocked. Horrified even. But then it was like she realized the look on her face and course corrected. “It’s okay, you don’t have to worry. You can give the pencil back and say you’re sorry.”

I hadn’t even thought of that, “Oh yeah, I’ll do that tomorrow!” She gave me a kiss on the forehead, a hug, and closed the door behind her.

Later that night, I woke to strange voices coming from the living room. One was Mom’s, and she sounded like she was crying. The other voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t tell who it was.

I snuck out of my room and peeked around the corner into the living room. Mom was there, crying into her open palms. Next to her, rubbing her back, was Jeff’s dad, Gary.

“Mom, what’s wrong?”

Her eyes shot up to meet mine, her face marked with lines from her eyes down around her jawline. She got up and forced a small smile, “I’m sorry I woke you sweetie, there’s nothing wrong. I was just a little sad about something.”

“Oh, okay. Can you tell me what you were so sad about?”

“Don’t worry about that. Let’s just get you to bed.” She ushered me back to my room, tucking me into bed, and all the while, she looked so terribly sad.

Jeff’s dad. Did it have something to do with what I told Mom? I must have really done something horrible to make Mom cry like that. Something even worse than stealing a No.2 pencil.

A child’s guilt is a funny thing.