Robert

Bonnie was the only friend that I ever had who understood, who was apparently only in my mind, too. She was my best friend, yet she was so vague in my memory, I couldn't even remember her name, up until now. I remembered that late summer afternoon as being one of the best days of my life. There she was, sitting all alone from the other kids reading. She was such a bookworm. I tipped the pail filled halfway with sand in front of her to get her attention. My sandals filled with the stuff. I sat next to her, then folded my arms over my knees.

"Hi, what's your name?" I asked.

I grinned, then giggled as her soft amber eyes looked up and her face turned red over her freckles. They drew me to her. I wanted to tell her how much they reminded me of the ants that I poured sugar over and watched them carry it back to the queen into their hill. Then I thought she might not like ants as much as I do. She shifted away and buried her face between the pages. I tilted my head, then blew a raspberry and dug my now bare feet into the sand. I stared down at the leaves that fell from the tree overhead, a few yellow ones in the pile of mostly green. I remembered then what my father told me, about how it's polite to introduce oneself first.

"I'm Robert," I offered.