This one time, while waiting for a bus at Port Authority, I played a crane game in an arcade near my bus terminal. A middle-aged woman watched as I won a plastic dinosaur with ease.
As I retrieved my prize, she grabbed my shoulder, and in a voice normally reserved for addressing small children, she said, “Good for you! I’ve never seen anyone win before! Congratulations! Good for you!”
I stood stunned for a moment, before stammering, “Thank you. I feel good about this.”
Looking back, every single choice I made that day was a loss.

This one time when I was in elementary school, I decided to take up an imaginary fort behind one of the many couches in my family’s living room. I also decided that imaginary forts needed rations.
Every time my family went out to a restaurant, I would take all the sugar packets at the table, and later, hide them underneath the couch. Soon, I had built up a good stockpile.
For the next few months, I would frequently dive into my fort, suck down a packet of artificial sweetener, and run around until I was sweaty and tired. I had a fort, a supply of food, and a secret life. Sweet, saccharine bliss.
But one day, I came home from school, and all my sugar packets were gone. I asked about them, and my mom yelled at me.
The fort was abandoned soon after, and I cried for the end of an era.

This one time in middle school, the entire graduating eighth grade class planned to skip the last day of school. Everyone I knew confirmed that this was going to happen, but I was still worried about getting written up for an unexcused absence.
I went. I remember sitting in Latin class without any classmates, as the substitute teacher and I watched the end of “Mission Impossible” together for thirty-eight minutes.
It was awkward.

This one time I was enrolled in a taekwondo class that shared space with a church. I wanted to be friends with this kid who really liked comic books, and I saw a chance to do so when I found a comic among the religious pamphlets in the lobby. Without flipping through it, I said, “Look! It’s a comic.” I handed him one and took one for myself so we could discuss it at our next class. Later in my mom’s car, I read it. It was about a man who indulges in every type of sin imaginable and then burns in hell. I was so scared I avoided comic book kid for a long time, because he reminded me of the book.
We never became friends.

This one time I was running late to a Yankees game, and by the time I got on the subway, I was drenched in sweat from sprinting through the streets. Naturally the subway car fills up, and a young man decides to share a pole with me. A few seconds later in my periphery, I see him quickly retract his arm and rub it, and I immediately know I’ve sweated on him. He tries to make eye contact with me, but I refuse and stare straight ahead. I try to pretend I’m thinking of something cool, but he just keeps on staring at the side of my face, as he shakes his head and frowns. Finally, at the next stop, I see him get out and move to a different car.
I don’t remember the Yankees game at all.

This one time when I was six years old, I felt like being a grown up, so at the dinner table, I announced that I was going to visit a friend after supper. I hopped onto my bike and rode less than a block to the corner of the street.
And then I stopped and waited. “Oh boy. My parents are going to think I’m so grown up. I’m visiting friends by myself.” I imagined myself walking up to this imaginary friend’s doorstep, being invited inside, playing board games. I tried to imagine every little step to make sure I was gone from home for the appropriate amount of time. “Right now, I would be rolling the dice. And it’s rolling. And now I see that it’s a four (2,2). Okay. Now I move my piece four spaces. One. Two. Three. Four. Now he’s offering me a choice of drinks. I want a root beer. He gets up to get the root beer.”

My mom found me two hours later…sitting on my bike…staring at the ground…in front of a stranger’s house. I have real friends now.

This one time (a few days ago) I decided to play basketball at a nearby court. I hadn’t played basketball for a while, and I was shooting by myself, when this dude asks me to join in on a game of 21. I said yes, knowing neither how good these guys were at basketball, nor the rules of 21. For the next fifteen minutes, I stood off to the side, waving my arms once in a while to show that I was “blocking” shots. When one of the guys remarked, “Man, you look like you have no energy”, I replied, “Oh man. I’m feeling kind of sick. I think I feel a cold coming on. I gotta go.” I scrunched up my face to show I was sick as I picked up my bag and left.
I can never go back to that court again.

This one time when I was 10 years old, I ate four slices of Domino’s pizza, a personal record at the time. I felt queasy. That night, as I lay on the top bunk of the bunk bed I shared with my brother, I vomited over the railing, like a drunken sailor, onto the sea-blue carpet below.

We sold the house last fall. The stain was still there.

This one time I got a toy unicorn in this bag of candy. I carried it around in my backpack for weeks, waiting for someone to mention anything unicorn-related, so I could pull it out and surprise that person. I got tired of waiting and started showing it to people. They all thought I was weird.