At the sound of the voice, Gregory House poked his head out his second-floor bedroom window. Down on the sidewalk was a small six-year-old, wearing a Pirates baseball cap and holding a mitt and a ball. He immediately recognized his younger neighbor, James Wilson. He saw James smiling up at him brightly while fiddling with the brand-new leather baseball and glove. He probably got it for Christmas, but Greg didn't know for sure.
"Mom said I can come find you after I finished my homework, and I did!" Greg could tell James was proud of himself; James has been having difficulty in Ms. Watson's class ever since they started sentence structure lessons. English has never been James's strong suit, but Greg shouldn't talk. He has been getting less-than-stellar grades in the subject himself.
Greg took off his headphones. Those he did indeed get for his Christmas gift. They were from his father, who actually wasn't home until two days after Christmas Day. But he used the headphones anyway, no matter how angry he was at his father on the inside. After all, they come in handy when he needed his Led Zeppelin fix. His mother wouldn't want to hear loud music after ten o'clock. His mother wouldn;t want to hear loud music at all, actually.
"I'll be right there!" he shouted back to the younger boy. He took his torn and battered baseball mitt from his bedroom shelf after grabbing the keys off his desk. He went downstairs, told his mom where he was going, and was out of the house within thirty seconds. The sight of an extremely excited and happy James greeted Greg. He could tell that James was having a hard time suppressing a secret, and was dying to tell his closest friend. This made Greg chuckled, if only for a brief second. "What's with you?" he asked, amused.
Greg started walking down towards the park around the corner, and saw James half-skipping alongside from the corner of his eye. "Dad said he's taking me fishing next weekend!" James exclaimed delightedly. He still couldn't wipe that smile off his face.
"That's great," Greg replied, realizing he sounded less enthusiastic than he would like to be. He was genuinely happy for the kid, considering how his dad has been away from home for the past month as a traveling salesman. The fact that his own dad has never taken him fishing, or, in fact, anywhere else, might be making him a little jealous. "That's really great."
"Mom's making us sandwiches, and dad said he's gonna take me to the bait shop 'cause I've never been there before," James rambled. Greg was still very much amused by his younger friend. "I know!" announced James triumphantly as the two approached the beautifully green park, "You should come with us!"
While Greg appreciated the invitation, he concluded that it would have been better if he went on a father-son fishing trip with his own father. Besides, Mr. Wilson probably wanted to spend the three days of the month he has in town with his son, and not his son's pathetic older friend. "No, it's okay. I might be helping my dad fix our backyard's fence," he lied.
"Oh, okay," James echoed brightly. He ran ahead of Greg by about thirty feet. Turning around, he quickly put his mitt on, and yelled, "here, catch!"
James might be only six, but he has a particularly strong arm. Greg thought he probably got that from his tee-ball practices. He has gone to every single one of James's tee-ball games. He used to do it because it was part of his duty as the older brother in the elementary school's First/Sixth Grades Buddies program. Greg didn't volunteer for it, obviously. His teacher, Ms. Phillips, encouraged his mother to persuade her son. And, of course, like any other good community member, the thought that his son would be contributing to something other than personal gain was very appealing. He remembered thinking what first-graders needed weren't sixth-grade pretend-buddies, but their kindergarten naptimes. He also thought what he needed wasn't a first-grader following him around, but a note from his mom saying he couldn't attend a Buddies activity because he was sick. Sore throat, cold, flu, it didn't matter what it was, as long as it was believable. A while ago, Tommy Meyers came to school with a pathetic limp and a note declaring that he was crippled. Ms. Phillips gave him twice as much math homework than needed. Greg and his friends snickered.
At first, he was annoyed about having to spend his free time after school with some six-year-old. What about going to the ice cream parlor, or blasting Led Zeppelin while air-guitarring the riffs, or watching The Brady Bunch (which, he admitted later, was what he missed the most)? When he first met his buddy, James Wilson, he didn't realize the young boy lived in the house right next to his. He never really bothered to get to know his neighbors. He tried desperately to get out of it, even if it involved spending more time on handiwork around his house. His mom wasn't about to fall into the trap, though, and he was pushed back into participating in the program. The first week made him thought this would be the worst year ever, but after a while, he started to like being with James. He liked being the role model, the big brother, the influence. He didn't bother figuring out whether he was a good influence or a bad influence, though.
Greg caught the ball in his own mitt, and threw it back to James. He glanced down at his baseball glove, which has been a birthday present from his grandfather six years ago. It didn't fit him then; it was too big. It didn't fit him now, either; it was now too small. Still, he kept it as one of his most prized possession. It reminded him of grandpa, who would come by every Sunday after church to play ball with him, even if it meant getting his nice church clothes dirty. It reminded him of how he used to sit on his grandpa's lap while watching The Andy Griffith Show or The Dick Van Dyke Show. "That Van Dyke sure is a real hoot," he would used to say in between hearty laughter. It reminded him of the day when grandpa didn't come over after church. He didn't know why; he only remembered that three days later (he remembered it was a rainy, gray Wednesday) he didn't go to school. He remembered the dark circles under his mother's eyes and the soft tear trails on her cheeks as she dressed him in his Sunday suit. Later, his older cousin Tony told him they weren't going to see grandpa again. Ever.
"Greg, get the ball!" James's voice snapped him back to reality. He turned to look down at the grass on his right, and saw the new baseball. "Are you okay?"
Greg quickly wiped the single tear away from his cheek with his sleeve before picking up the uncaught baseball. "Yeah," he replied, throwing the ball back to James.
James caught it perfectly with his glove. He toyed with it for a while before returning it to his older friend. "Hey, Greg?"
"Yeah?" Greg received the ball, and quickly threw it back as he glanced around the park. It was fairly empty, with only a small family playing with their dog and a boy reading under a tree's shade.
"What's junior high like?"
Greg has never thought about it. True, he was going to be in junior high in less than half a year. That thought, however, has never crossed his mind. "Maybe the same as elementary school, I supposed. With harder classes."
"Oh." There was a silence. Greg could hear the family's laughter and the dog's bark as they chased each other playfully. "Do you think we'll still be friends? After you go to junior high?" James asked.
This was something else that Greg has never thought about. By the end of this year, he wouldn't be in the Buddies program anymore. There would be new sixth-graders, and there would be new first-graders. He supposed that they could still be friends, since they were neighbors after all and could see each other everyday if they wanted. Then again, he would be making new friends, friends who were his age. Friends he should be playing with, but wasn't. Friends that wouldn't be able to understand him as much as James, who, despite being five years younger, understood everything he felt about this world. "Yeah, of course! We can still play ball like we do now," he answered, throwing the baseball back to James. "Just remember to finish your homework first, though."