He always let me pick first. He was nice like that. No matter how much he wanted the one I picked, he let me pick first. Always.
It was the Euclid House. Probably second grade. I played with him every day. He lived a weird kind of kitty corner across the street. Our house wasn’t on the corner, so technically it wasn’t kitty corner. He had blond hair and we were about the same size, it seemed. His house was on the corner. It was a nice house that his family built. Behind it was a big hole in the ground. That’s where we played.
We climbed up and down into the pit. We played and played and played. Hours on end. It was always so hot out. Summer. Summer fun. Summer friends. I always had boy friends. I always got along with the boys. They were fun. I was a lot like them. I was a tom boy. I was strong like the boys and I could do anything they could.
After we had played for what seemed like hours and we could hear the hunger calling, we went into his house to get them. We were so hot we needed something to refresh us, something to replenish our energy so we could get back out there and play. I mean really, what else are two second graders going to do all day.
It was decision time. Popsicle time. My favorite time. Every single time I hoped my favorite was there. I hoped the root beer one was there. I had to pick, yellow or brown. Banana or root beer. Sometimes red or orange, but I always hoped for brown. I hated the banana ones. Maybe he knew that. Maybe he knew I liked root beer better. Maybe that’s why he always let me pick first. He was nice like that.
We trudged back out into the heat and sat on the edge of the pit while we ate our popsicles. We contemplated our next move. We talked about things second grade kids talked about. We talked about playing and we talked about eating popsicles. Life was simple. Life was fun. The Euclid house was fun and Rikky was fun.