Blood Sisters

It is funny how I can't remember everyday things (doctor appointments, dropping off library books on time, etc.) but I can vividly remember names from my childhood. I wish you could say to your brain, "Thanks for holding on to that for me, but I have absolutely no need for it now, so you can remove it and make room for something important." If only. And thus, I can remember two childhood friends: Nicole Savage and Dion Miller.
We were very close in elementary school. I think it was probably fourth grade or so, and we finally decided that our friendship had reached a barrier. We couldn't get any closer...or could we??
I really can't tell you who's brilliant idea it was to become blood sisters, but apparently we all thought it was necessary. I am sure that I had something to do with it, because I remember doling out assignments.
"Dion, you bring bandaids for afterward. Nicole, you bring something to stop the bleeding, and I will supply something to make us bleed." Now, what would you bring to make three little girls bleed on the playground. A pin? A needle? Well, I went for the most dramatic thing I could think of—a butcher knife. I kid you not, people. I knew my mom didn't use it very often, so I thought I could sneak it out for a day to do the deed. I don't think I ever visualized up to the point where I used the knife. My sister said we would have ended up as "stump" sisters; not "blood" sisters.



I remember putting the knife in my backpack and that funny gnawing feeling in my stomach when you know you are doing something stupid and you could get caught at any second. I don't even remember how I got it out of my bag, but I do remember taking it onto the playground tucked under my shirt (I'm sorry, mothers out there, I am sure this is not making you feel any better about your kids' safety at school). Unfortunately, an annoying boy named Lauren (who had a habit of following me and pulling my hair) saw the knife and tried to get his hands on it.
It wasn't much of a struggle, because I didn't want to get hurt. He took my knife and threw it under one of the portables. Hmmm....well that ended the blood sisters, but more importantly, I was now worried that my mom was going to notice that the knife was gone. I couldn't exactly go to my teacher and say, "Um, some stupid boy threw my butcher knife under the building, but I need to get it back before my mom notices it's missing, so could you help me out?" I can just see how that conversation would go. So I did what every smart child would do: nothing.
Then one fateful day, I was called to the principal's office. I knew right away that I was found out. Apparently the janitor cleans under the portables every so often (darn it) and he must have been mighty surprised at his find this time around. And then someone must have told on me. The principal was very kind and considering that I had no previous history, I was let off with an easy sentence. I think my mother was informed (duh), but I don't remember talking to her about it. I must have learned my lesson, because I have never taken another knife to school, especially not a butcher knife.
But now you know my sordid past. I have been to the principal's office; but, I have never become a blood sister. How about you? (Were you ever sent to the principal? I'm guessing most of you avoided the whole blood ordeal).