Did you ever stand outside of yourself, watching in horror as you do or say something completely tactless to someone that you really like and wouldn't hurt for the world?

It's an awful feeling to know that you may have permanently damaged a relationship through one careless moment or one thoughtless word. When I see it happen in movies, I cringe for the character, knowing how it feels to do just that. Yet if I know the horrible results, why can't I seem to stop myself in those crucial moments?

Yesterday my little buddy Lauren came in with her usual question: "Do you have anything for me to do?" She's a precious little twelve-year-old who simply loves to help out with almost any task. Unfortunately, we were in the midst of reshelving books, and I really didn't have anything for her. She seemed so heartbroken that I thought quickly and decided that she could design for me a new bulletin board for the Children's Room; it needed redone anyway. She grabbed a pencil and set to work.

Now, while this was going on, several other teenage girls were being trained as pages, learning to shelve books. They were having a tough time of it, but were plodding away at the task. I had corrected them a few times, so at least the major mistakes were being averted. Leaving Lauren at a desk and the teenagers shelving books, I left to supervise some rowdy kids who were making quite a bit of noise on the other side of the library.

When I came back, Boss-Lady was speaking sternly with the girls. At first I was confused when I surveyed the area; the teen who had been shelving the books was now sitting at the desk and sketching, while Lauren was attempting to shelve books. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to do that, so board books were being stuck in amongst the picture books, and tot books were in the reader section. Boss-Lady was trying to figure out what was going on, and in my efforts to try to explain, something akin to "I never asked Lauren to shelve books. She decided that one herself," escaped my lips.

I could see Lauren wilt a little. She had only been trying to help out, and while I had told the truth, I instantly regretted that I hadn't phrased it in a gentler manner. Of course, then Boss-Lady scolded her a little more - volunteer pages must, by library regulation, have a parental form signed - and then the page supervisor came over and took her turn as well, though mainly criticizing the other girl. All the while, I looked on helplessly. The girls shouldn't have switched tasks, but I didn't see that they needed to be rebuked so much for doing so. I also felt that my original statement was contributing to their rebukes.

Lauren left the Children's Room after that, even though her mom hadn't yet come to pick her up. I saw her sitting by herself in the adult area, but when I tried to go up and speak to her, she slipped away again, leaving me feeling even guiltier than before. I know she must be feeling more embarrassed than anything, and it hurts to know that my words could have made her feel worse.

Amanda, a little girl several years younger than me, lived just up the street. She and I would frequently play together, though her relative immaturity occasionally made for difficulties; I found myself outgrowing some of our games long before she was ready. Most of the time I said nothing, though, playing with dolls in her basement and jumping on furniture.

Other neighborhood girls were less sympathetic toward Amanda. When I played with them, Amanda was a frequent object of derision, and I'm sad to say that I was just as eager a teaser. It is a tribute to her forgiving spirit that she ever let me come within twenty feet of her after some of the things we said and did to her. When the other girls would start to dissect her, I found myself willingly sharing every "babyish" and "stupid" thing she had said or done just the previous day. I felt awful later, but not enough to stop me the next time.

Sometimes I look back on those days and shudder. The most vivid memory is of Amanda's small shoe flying through the air as we played keep-away with it over her head. Her eyes looked at me so accusingly that I wonder why I didn't shatter to pieces on the spot. I was not an innocent; I don't defend myself now with the remorse that I feel. I wish I could go to her and apologize for all those times, but even if she still lived where she used to, I don't think that revisiting those moments would make for a happy afternoon.

The adult page who is suspected of misshelving everything came over to talk to me as we worked. We chatted for a bit, then she set to work shelving some things on the other side of the stacks from me, hidden from view. After a bit, one of the staff members went over to say something to her. I couldn't understand what was said, but a few minutes later, the staff member came past me and said, "I'm getting her out of here for you!"

I nodded and said, "Good, good," without thinking. In a flash, I realized that she could have heard me, but it was too late. If she heard and her feelings were hurt, there's nothing that can be done now. If she didn't hear, then I'm certainly not going to say anything. I'm helpless; I'll have to wait and see how she reacts toward me later in order to know whether or not I've damaged another relationship.

I hate feeling so thoughtless! I hate knowing that I've hurt, or potentially hurt, somebody who really didn't deserve the treatment that I'm giving them. My misery is compounded when the victim says nothing in return, only shrivels a bit under my words. I feel like the biggest monster to ever walk the face of the planet.