Silently, he reached over, now a few inches taller than me, and grasped my head at the ears with both hands. We looked at each other, speechless, in our mirrored sadness, a feeling I have never truly forgotten to this day. From inside we could hear his mother calling him in, and I knew I had to get home before the sunlight faded completely. We stood on his front steps, he one above as he was a bit shorter than me. We lived a few blocks apart, and I walked with him from the playground to his house, both of us acutely aware that we were saying goodbye.Īlthough we said we would stay friends forever, I now believe we each knew in our heart that this was unlikely. In June, at age nine, my family was moving out of Queens in NYC to a more suburban neighborhood, and Tommy and I spent what was to be our last time together. He was the type of kid who could run and somehow his shirt stayed tucked in his pants, and his hair never moved out of place. We could talk and walk, play stoopball against our houses steps, or just be quiet reading books together. I was a lucky child in so many ways, but I knew I was different from an early age. And I loved my friends who came from very different backgrounds. ![]() I read voraciously, and was curious about everything: such as what made people do what they do, and how mechanical things were put together and actually worked.
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