Old Friends

f o r e w o r d

Timothy Versace lost me when he got his first tattoo. Or maybe it was before that, when he mentioned trying out for the soccer team. Maybe it happened even before that. And maybe, just maybe, I didn't notice.

We'd been neighbors since birth, literally. Our mothers met when they both arrived home from the hospital and our dad's were taking us out of our cars. We live in the apartments beside each other, V40 and V41.

The earliest clear memory I have of him is from the day of my fifth birthday; he gave me a kiss as a present — and a new baseball bat, but that isn't the point. The whole scene was quite cliche, his parents were over helping my parents set up for my party and he came up to my room and woke me up. He told me that he had two gifts to give me and if I wanted one then. Little ole innocent and excited me said yes. Then, he planted one on me and smiled bashfully and ran off. Pussy move, I know, but I always thought of that as one of my best presents.

Anyhow, this story isn't about my first kiss, or my fifth birthday. It's about everything that came after that. Twelve years after that.