We had shared ice cream on that crooked porch, chalk still blotting out patches of our skin.
We ran through the fields behind our houses during the summer, exchanging the “it” disease every few minutes.
two of a kind; peas in a pod. forrest gump characterized it as “peas and carrots” and he couldn’t have been more right.
I will never forget the day we came home from school, ready to go out and hunt for frogs in the musky air surrounding the creek.
All of his nascar-themed things were being loaded into a large white truck, and his mother stood , emotionless, in the middle of the yard.
I waved good bye to him for the last time that night, when he was staring at me through the wet window of the truck. I knew it would rain, I felt it in my spirit; it was almost as if the weather sensed my pain and matched my sorrow.
I waved good bye, thinking for sure I’d never see him again.
And the truck pulled away.