52 Sundays – #12 – Mark Kelly

I met you because you were Paula’s next door neighbor.  You were rich too.  You were the baby of your mother’s second set of kids.  Spoiled, charming, swarthy, handsome and wiry.  I always thought of you as kind of a pre-teen James Dean/Dennis Hopper hybrid with your stingray bike with the extended fork and I’m too cool to even be a rebel attitude.  You just had this air about you that other boys didn’t have at the ripe age of 10.

One day, I remember you coming out of the woods behind your house with a mess of dead critters that you skinned for their pelts wearing your coonskin cap.  Who taught you to trap I’ll never know.  Your parents seemed to have no influence in your life.  In fact, the only time I ever saw your parents was when your mom would have cocktails with Paula’s mom – most afternoons – they in their psychedelic 60s caftans sitting in the living room with the deep plush white shag carpeting.

Paula, you and I spent most of the summer between 3^rd and 4^th grade together.  We plotted various mischief and went fishing or swimming in the sand pits or chased down snapping turtles in the murky water.  You had a mule to ride.  His name was Eli.  Paula’s pony was named Sparky.  We’d ride all over town, me on the back of one or the other.  You were nice to have along because you would deal with the road apples.  And, somewhere along the way, you and I found ourselves falling into easy conversation whenever we met.

At the beginning of 4^th grade you declared me your girlfriend, kissed me full on the mouth, then put me on the back of your bike and rode me the long way home.  Two days later, Jenny Ball caught your eye and I was history.

I could never understand what you saw in me for even those couple of days.  But, it made me realize I must not be as weird as I thought if I had caught the eye of the coolest kid in the class.