We were seven and finding out about ourselves. We didn't know what cool was but we had an idea, we knew what we liked. He was the only kid who lived close to me and so that meant we were friends. He had a cop for a dad and he wouldn't show me his gun and even at that age I understood.
We played in the woods, carving knives from branches and darts from twigs and stealing cigarettes we were too afraid to inhale. We had a handshake that was a little too long and went a little too far. At seven you think the friends you have are the friends you'll always have. You will stay like hat forever, or if not forever, well, ten seems so far away.
We shared our childhoods and I don't know where he is. I imagine he loves down the road from where he used to, maybe he got into the family business, maybe he hides his gun from his son. Maybe he worries about his son doing the things we used to do. But we turned out all right enough.
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