Her name was Rachel, she was also four. Her family moved in next to my parents’ house when we were both babies. As soon as we were old enough to play with other kids we played with each other. Rachel was my neighbor, and we were best friends.
We grew up together, as they weren’t all that many kids in our neighborhood; at least not our age. We both had siblings, but my brother was five years older than me. She ended up having a younger sister when she was eight or so. We didn’t really have anybody else to spend time with after school and such, so we spent time together.
Rachel was a bit of a tomboy I guess, though it’s hard to say what that means to a little kid. We both liked running around and climbing trees, playing with bugs and pretending to play house and other random crap. As we got older our games grew slightly more sophisticated. She played softball and I was in little league, so we’d play catch and practice hitting into a net my dad built in the backyard.
I suppose we loved each other, for whatever that was worth at the time. When she went on vacation I missed her; I missed my friend. When I got pneumonia and was in bed for three weeks she came over everyday with soup that her mom helped her make. We cared about each other for no other reason than because we cared. I never remember thinking it was odd or amazing or special. I don’t remember thinking much of it at all.
Things eventually changed for us, or maybe mostly to us. Through elementary school everything stayed relatively the same. We got older and did older kid stuff. It became really important to be older when her sister was born. We were big kids, so we had to do big kid stuff. Apparently big kids do chores. I still think the whole “big kid” thing was an elaborate trick.
Then things started to change. Rachel got more girly and spent time with her girl friends. She stopped being just my friend, and started being a girl who was my friend. I remember Henry Mitchell told a bunch of the guys at school about cooties, and how girls were supposed to be gross. I didn’t really get it, since my best friend had always been a girl. We both liked gross things at the time. But I couldn’t act that way, so we went through the whole cootie phase.
I don’t know if it was me or her, or maybe it was both of us at once. Eventually we just stopped seeing each other everyday after school. We’d still hang out on weekends every once in awhile. I don’t remember anything bad happening, or ever being mad at her. I don’t think she was ever mad at me either, but I’ve never been very good at knowing when women are mad at me. We just stopped being inseparable.
Rachel developed some breasts, and I eventually figured out that breasts are a big deal. The whole idea of cooties became childish and sex crept its way into our lives. Junior High will do that to you. Suddenly the fact that Rachel was a girl was a much bigger deal. The fact that she was becoming one of the prettier girls in our class became an even bigger deal.
By the time Rachel became an object of my classmate’s affection we didn’t spend any time together anymore. When I’d see her in passing in the hallway at school we’d say hello. Every once in awhile when I saw her get the mail I’d go outside to catch up for a minute or two. I think she did the same from time to time, but that may just be wishful thinking.
We always stayed friendly; we just weren’t friends anymore. I hope that I missed her sometimes, but I don’t remember if I ever did. She was always across the driveway, so I suppose it never felt like she was far away. I don’t know why we never became close again; I guess it just didn’t work out that way.
What the hell, I haven’t thought about Rachel in years.
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