last published

been thinking about old friends.

CHRIS FLETCHER

WILL FLINT

(in capitals because i am invoking them)

the haze of summer, as though looking through it. squinting in the sun. the saccharine twinkle of the ice-cream truck around the corner. clouds muscling in overhead, tired from their eastward trek, bogged down with unnecessary luggage ...

i am giving you Eddie's house because i never saw yours, Fletcher. you lived at the top of the stairs and just off to the right. it was dim in your room, and some broken blinds over the lonely window weren't enough to keep out the sun. you had a Nintendo and two controllers. the ashy, variegated carpet that made me feel like i was standing in a litterbox. Eddie was a humorless sort, but you were not. your family was poor, and your mother was still at work when we got home from school. right away, you showed me your toys - exuberant over the stamina of your oldest action figure - Commander of Planets, Master of the Universes - i can't remember. i remember the look on your face when i broke his arm off - accidentally! - like someone had just punched you in the gut.

Will - you'll wait for another time.