Two

“Be NICE!” she warns him in protective, hushed tones.

“Mmmk,” he says unconvincingly.

She’s 8.  He’s 7.  The weird little neighbor kid spinning himself in circles—somewhere in between.

“I don’t even think he’d notice if we left,” he tries to convince her.  

“He asked me if I wanted to come over and play.  I can’t just leave.”

“Why?”  He throws his body on the ground dramatically.  “Whatever.  Why is he spinning?  What song is he singing, anyway?”

Jesus loves me…spinning…this I know…spinning…for the Bible…still spinning.

“Never mind.”  

They sit and meticulously pull thick blades of grass from the earth.  The thickest blades make the best whistles.  He tries to teach her how to make the whistling sound through her thumbs.  She tries to convince him that sliding the blade horizontally through her lips actually makes the better sound.  She can’t figure out how to do it his way. 

She tightens her lips and blows a gust of air and saliva past the quivering, reed.  She soaks him.  They roll with laughter.

The weird little neighbor kid slips out of a loosely velcroed shoe and face plants into their discarded and spit-soaked grass clippings. 

The 6:00 siren sounds.  It’s time for her to run home for dinner. 

He considers helping the weird little neighbor kid onto his feet before he walks back up the steep hill to his house.  “Not worth it,” he thinks to himself.  She isn’t watching him anyway.

As he approaches the tree line which borders their yards, he turns around.  “Dude!  Get up!  Nobody likes you because you act like that!”   

He begins his assent.  Eat something fast—she got a head start.