He was a boy who lived next door to me. We had identical houses except that his smelled like band-aids and he had too much brown furniture.
He was one year younger than me and his parents were from Spain. He told me his father beat him with a wiffle ball bat when he was bad.
We were squatting in his driveway one week day in July, looking at a dead fuzzy caterpillar that was being eaten by fire ants. There was steam coming off the blacktop and sweat was running down from my forehead to my lips. I was self-conscious about the hair on my legs. I was probably about ten.
And then he slipped his hand under my shirt. And stroked my naked back.
It felt really good. Like, electric current up the spine good, but also comforting.
Like he was telling me without words that he would be gentle to me.
I still don't know why he did that. We never spoke about it but he did things like that sometimes for no reason. We would be playing a game in the street and he'd whale me with a ball one minute and the next be holding my hand.
One day in the pool he pulled down his swim trunks and exposed his little rubbery penis to me. So I pulled down my bikini bottom and let him see me. My heart raced when we did this but nothing ever came of it. We grew up and moved away and I think he is a doctor or something. Or so my mother keeps reminding me.
I'm not even really sure why I'm thinking of it now. It's really weird being a kid.
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