Friends

FRIENDS

He walked down the sidewalk to Butch's house and stood outside the low fence that privated the front yard from the public street. Peeling siding and paint flaking from the windows made that house look neglected.

        He stood and remembered the birthday party that ended, for himself, before he could even watch the first of six full color cartoons that Butch's dad had rented to show everyone. They owned a real 16 millimeter projector, just like the one in school. The colors were so bright, just like the real movies, but his mom had come to take him home and he had missed it all. He wanted to hide and remain there, but knew it was useless to try.

        The party was eight months ago. The games and the food and the few seconds of brilliant color cartoon stayed fresh in his mind and he saw everything again as he looked to the windows, dark and dirty.

        Butch had the greatest toys too. They were special, more fascinating than the usual trucks and soldiers and guns.

        He kicked at the dirt pile near the gate, where the wind had layered several months of silt and leaves and decay that now blocked the gate from opening.

        Softly he said " C'mon Butch, let's play."

        He walked home alone once more. Alone.

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