I think we were friends long before we even realized.

I remember it was a sunny day, clear skies in blue and cerulean with nary a cloud. I had on my new green dress with the pastel pink patched pockets and a wooly jacket. My mother was holding my small hand a bit too tight as she dragged me into a bustling classroom where approximately twenty kids were laughing, screaming, and throwing lego bricks and half-eaten peanut butter and banana sandwiches at each other. I was a nervous wreck. I would be even shaking in my boots if I had any. They don't ever prepare you for Kindergarten.

I distinctly remember I was hiding behind my mum's skirts. She laughed nervously when she was introducing herself to the teacher. The schoolteacher was a large woman by the name of Mrs. Prim and though it appeared she was having a hard time dealing with the stress of twenty kids who weren't hers with a sour face getting ever more bitter, she took one look at me and smiled so warmly I bet an ice-cream would instantaneously melt on her bright teeth.

And then I perhaps made a big mistake by telling her so.

"If you smile like that, all the ice cream are going to melt." My small child brain of five years or so had said aloud. I also realized what I said three seconds too late and almost stopped breathing. My mother made an inquisitive face but she waited out for Mrs. Prim's reaction.

And you know an adult is a good person when they laugh so boisterously at an odd passing remark that the small kiddie tables shook. It was an instant connection. And my mother and I have always believed in instant connections. Kindred souls are the rarest to find on earth. Treasure them for they are so few and far between.

"I think I like you." Mrs. Prim said with a tear in her eye and I don't think I'll ever forget the way she couldn't get the whole chuckle out of her system so it lingered in the air and became sweetly infectious. "Have you picked out a seat you like, little missy?" She gestured to the available tables, encouraging me to make my own choice.

Truth be told I was too busy hiding to really take in the spectacle before me. However, when you make a new friend, especially when it's the teacher, it becomes increasingly better. So finally, I let go of my mother's skirt with the faint scent of lavender detergent as though letting go of all that was once familiar and stood facing the terror and unknown before me.

I scanned the scene like a snobby critic partaking in a restaurant's soup du jour. And to be honest, each of the tables looked like everyone was either a troublemaker, or too loud, or too nosy, or would pull my hair, and worst of all would probably steal all of my crayons.

And then our eyes met for the first time when I rounded a corner by a green bookshelf as green as my lucky new dress I wore just for today.

A tiny boy with unkempt wavy brown hair covering half of his face and wearing an argyle sweater one size too big for him stared back at me quietly, nervously. His cheeks were stained with mud and his fingernails caked with gunk. And when I stared for two seconds too long, he grinned at me with his first front tooth missing, revealing a pair of sunny dimples.

It was undeniably an instant connection.

I quickly looked up at my mother and then at Mrs. Prim who smiled knowingly and nodded. I think my mother knew me well enough to know when I've made my mind on certain things so she gave me hug, a peck, and sent me on my way. Or perhaps she was just in a rush to leave me in school while she rushed home to nap before heading off to work.

I came up to him and politely asked, "is this seat taken?"

"No." He said and he scooted his chair over for me.

I sat down and placed my bag on the table joining his. I pointed to his nails which he was partially hiding.

"What were you making?" I asked.

"A sand fortress," and he brought up his nails and blackened fingers to show me how hard he had worked on it. Though I couldn't see the result of his work, I knew it must have looked fantastic.

I brought up my sooty and grimy fingers and said, "I was making mud pies at home."

And we laughed.

It was an instant connection.