CHAPTER-2

A week had passed since the farewell party of 2013. The high octane energy that had permeated the halls of Midtown just a week ago had fizzled out quite shamefully. I suppose in reality, occasions of 'going out with a bang' are extremely rare and few. However, there were still physical signs around the school which suggested that the night of merriment had not been a part of our imagination, such as three balloons which were floating helplessly along the gymnasium floors or the half-torn banner sheets that were lying in the cafeteria. On the morning following the party, a few disheartened seniors eyed the busy five-man janitorial staff who were hard at work clearing away the vestiges of the celebratory mess of the party. Disillusioned as they were, it was somewhat surprising that none of them tried any final day pranks, a tradition that had been upheld quite gloriously by the previous batches. I believe the year I joined Midtown someone blocked all the bathroom toilets in the second floor which led to the flooding of the corridors and Principal Ellis was forced to cut the day short when the stench started to spread. Maybe it was Ellis's new strict regulations banning such outrageous pranks that stopped the batch of 2013 from performing any of their own. Well, all except Steve Herbert, a senior whom I had once known owing to our interactions in the decathlon team some years ago, who didn't want to go out quietly. So on a Wednesday afternoon, he stole his badge of merit from the trophy cabinet, an act that earned him detention till the last day of term. Amusing as that was, even a few of my own classmates seemed upset, an emotion that confused me but at the time I merely associated that overt display of sadness to the upcoming term exams.

To be truthful, I didn't really understand sentimentality all that much. As far as I could see, there wasn't much about school that seemed special to me. I mean yes, I had Harry, and maybe some of the other people weren't bad either but for the most part I spent most of my school life inside locker rooms or cornered by thuggish students who found my lunch money an easy access for their own extra-curricular activities or suffering double wedgies at the hands of Flash Thompson – memories that I'm not particularly fond of.

I clearly remember my first day at Midtown high. Uncle Ben had received a call from the school principal sometime in the evening. The tale as recounted to him in Miss Ellis's office later was Mr Riley, the school janitor at the time, having done for the day had stepped into the broom closet to drop his equipment off when he saw a really pale-looking boy sitting quietly in the closet clutching a shattered pair of glasses in his hand. It didn't take the janitor long to realize what had happened, but it did take him ten minutes to figure out who to call. Ben didn't say a word on the way home, which usually signified how angry he was but that night he seemed defeated. "I'll buy you a new pair" he had said pointing at my broken frame.

"And don't tell your Aunt. She'll just worry" was what he said when I got out on the driveway, and I had no reason to disobey.

But I'm deviating from the topic at hand and there is no point going over the regretful moments in life because usually they just end up making me feel miserable.

Coming back to more pressing events, a few days after the party, Manhattan PD had released a statement to the public. An elusive serial arsonist who had been plaguing New York for the past month had finally been apprehended. When asked by numerous reporters the police captain commented that the details were classified, which really begged the question if it was the police who caught him or if they found him unconscious outside the doors of their humble establishment hanging from a lamp post with a little card stuck to his head. I for one cannot tell you what was written on that card, mostly because I don't remember it except for the fact that the officer who read it, happened to put on the most glorious grimace I have ever had the pleasure to observe in my short life.

Thankful as I was with the period of respite that followed and with the lack of extra-curricular 'busy-ness' that wearing a mask entails, I did not feel satisfied. I don't think I'm wrong in saying that satisfaction is the most fleeting of emotions. I wonder sometimes if anyone gets used to it; my inner intuition tells me that you don't but then again it would be nice to feel happy when a job is well done.

To explain the troubles associated with my feeling of discontentment, it is perhaps best if I begin by telling you what happened on the first day of my senior year lab exams. Perhaps you remember, I am not entirely sure if you do but it is safe to assume that you remember a little of the events that transpired because after all most of it involved you.

I have no intention to boast but I believe as the exam went, I was the first person to leave the chemistry lab after having successfully completed it, which to be fair wasn't challenging but I did find Flash Thompson in the corner giving me the stink eye which in turn put me in higher spirits. It must have been while I was walking down the first floor hallway where all the staff rooms happened to be located when I saw you walk out of the blue tinted door which everyone knew to be the school counselor's office. Miss Pennings, the substitute English teacher and also the official student counselor, held the door open for you as for a brief moment you glanced at me. A hint of bewilderment lightly touched your face. I believe the expression deer in a headlight summarized your countenance quite aptly. You might have gasped my name but I simply put on a hesitant smile and took my leave, quickening my stride as though the Rhino was charging down the corridor.

Now you might wonder why I might have acted so bizarrely. I mean surely I should have been curious enough to ask you what you might have been doing in the counselor's office. But the truth was I already knew and well, it scared me.

See, a day before the exam, in a moment of idle conversation on the dinner table Aunt May told me during dinner-time the next-door neighbors - the Watson's - were getting divorced. Apparently, it was Mrs Glasgow, our other neighbors, who had dropped this piece of information onto May during her latest visit to the supermarket. "How sad and irresponsible of them considering they have a daughter of your age. Do you know her well?" I must have been sipping on a glass of milk when she had divulged that particular information which led to a choking fit on my behalf, milk is surprisingly thick, and May eventually had to take away the glass from my hand hurriedly. "The Watson's are what?" I must have asked to which she just shook her head.

Needless to say, seeing you outside the counselor's office was enough to make me mull over May's words and the possible truth hidden in them. But even as I walked away, there was this trickling feeling of shame that permeated my head. A shame born out of the simple conclusion that I had run away from you when you were in dire need to have someone to talk to.

So days passed as I watched you in Calculus and English, the only two classes we shared, and also from my bedroom window as you sat out in the lawn in those same pyjamas with the moon high above the clouds. I tried on multiple occasions to contact you; I mean surely there was a way to make you feel better. But again, there never seemed an opportune time when you were alone and in a somewhat somber state to have a real conversation. Incidentally, this was also the time I got most used to hearing you sing from your backyard, your voice would often float into my room along with a light strumming of guitar. In the distance I knew I heard the constant shouting of your parents; their fights worsening over the days but hey, it could only get worse before it got better.

Oh and I suppose it is worth mentioning that I don't really listen to that many songs but seriously, you made me look up "Give me something" by Seafret on a particularly lonesome night when Aunt May was out on her night shift and her laptop was lying on the living room table. It's just the way you were singing it that night that made me realize something and I don't generally have these moments but you know what, it made me feel somewhat heartbroken.

But again, I'm digressing so I'll just do everyone a favor and get back on track here. After a significant amount of down-time was wasted on my behalf, I eventually decided that perhaps recess was the time I should try to talk to you; all I had to do was find a table and motion you over. I mean that sounded like a pretty good strategy, one I was certain would work until I realized that applying it practically was another thing in and of itself. It was one of those plans that work much better in your head. What made it even more difficult was the fact that you traveled in a group. There was always this gaggle of girls that accompanied you everywhere, and I mean everywhere. What you and Liz Allan had to talk about for hours on end on your way to the football field simply confounded me, and it happened so frequently that even Harry caught me rolling my eyes the tenth time it happened as we sat under the rafters. "Maybe just go over and talk to her like a normal human being. Either that or you really don't like peanut butter sandwich," he said.

"It's not that easy".

"Sure it is," he smirked as he took the sandwich from me and bit into it, "Mm. That is so good!"

As term exams got into their flow, I began to feel somewhat agitated. Two weeks had gone by and my attempts at making contact with you had reached nowhere. Seeing as how you were seemingly unavailable to corner in school premises I decided that maybe it was time I tried for the ground zero approach, which was a simple concept involving minimal fuss and no planning at all – I would talk to you the same way I talked with you the first time, outside your home. Frankly, it may seem foolhardy of me to mention it now seeing as how it should have been my first method of establishing contact instead of trying it in school, where you were constantly preoccupied with the more 'popular' kids. But the reason I didn't try it in the first place was because of the simple fact that I imagined the two of us had now reached a level of acquaintanceship that we could talk easily. But I realize now that I was deluding myself; I mean clearly, you had already forgotten our little rendezvous on the front-door steps of your home.

Trust me I wasn't hurt; merely disappointed.

So as you can see, the reason for this feeling of dissatisfaction, the one I mentioned not so very long ago rose from my inability to solve certain problems, and those said problems were inextricably linked with you. But of course, I was aware by that point that my time was running out and the longer I spent thinking about how to approach you, the less time I had to actually do it. Also it is worth pointing out that an entire month had passed since the farewell party of 2013, we were now into April which meant that a significant amount of time had passed since our initial conversation back in March and the longer I waited the harder it would become to interact with you. It was a conundrum that certainly warranted a need for action.

And so it was that on a Monday morning, an hour before the commencement of my Biology test I ran into you in the school library. First let me just say that of all the places one wishes to run into people, the library is certainly one that doesn't rank high on anyone's list. Perhaps the reason may seem bloated to you but for me the library was not a place where I liked to have my heartbeat quadrupled, which is exactly what happened when I saw you peeking through the opposite side of a rack where I had been busy searching for an extensive volume on Fossil recovery and Evolution of Invertebrates. I shall admit that I may or may not have jerked back violently when I pulled out a book from the rack and saw your very green eyes peering at me.

"I thought I recognized someone," you said to me.

"He-He-Hey!"

"Hey stranger" you smiled.

"What are you," I took a long breath "doing here?"

"Last minute preparations," you said while pulling out a number of books from the shelves onto your arms. "Believe it or not, I have an hour to make sure I don't fail my economics paper."

"Ah."

"You wouldn't happen to know where I might find books on Market structures would you."

"Uhm," I lightly cupped my chin, "I kinda remember seeing something back by that yellow wall over there, yeah that's the one. You could possibly try there. Oh and inside note - stay clear of those brown shelves," I point to her "Mrs. Price is terribly possessive of the books in those shelves."

"Why? What does she keep there?"

"Actually," I turned my gaze from her to the brown shelves and back to her again. "I have no idea.

"I never really checked it out myself. Mostly because all the books I ever need are in the corner shelves over there, far from her brown shelves" I said.

"Oh"

"Just stay clear of it and you're fine"

"Thanks for the tip," you wink. "You're a lifesaver, Peter. Talk to you later!"

For a brief moment I was caught in what seemed like a murky dream where I was uncertain of what my purpose was. It was only when you were about to turn into the corridor thus disappearing from view that I must have shouted "Wait! Mary Jane!" which in turn led to numerous shushes from the nearby students.

"Yeah?"

"There was something else. Something I needed to ask you"

"Shoot," you said turning to face me.

As I stood there and looked back at your questioning stare I realized that this was finally the moment where I could rid myself of the discontentment that had been building inside me. How many days must I have spent by then imagining how I would ask you how you were and if you were alright and whether the news about your parents splitting was actually true? All of those questions burned at the tip of my tongue and yet as I looked at you and remembered how surprised you looked when I saw you outside the counselor's office a few weeks ago I said, "You know what, I just forgot what the question was…"

"Oh," you said. "Was it something important?"

"Wouldn't have forgotten it if it was," I said rubbing my neck.

You chuckled quietly, covering your mouth with the back of one hand "You crack me up, Peter Parker.

"I'll see you around" you said as you walked away.

Even to this day, I am still confused about what stopped me from asking you the question. It wasn't like I was trying to ask you a difficult question but it was a personal one, which may have perchance made me hesitate at the last moment. However, it is slightly irksome now to look back at the times over the years when I have felt dissatisfied with the order of certain things. Perhaps that is because the dissatisfaction I feel is not an easy emotion to get rid of; it is almost perpetual, it simply never left me alone. But as I think back on my high school days and how long I waited to simply talk to you I realize now that there were a lot of missed opportunities on my behalf.

But I try not to think back on the details of the memories because like I said, I just end up feeling miserable whenever I do.


The abundance of free time in my hands eventually ran out once the term exams got over. The summer holidays beckoned in an attempt to take me out of my low spirits but obviously it didn't work. School was closed for approximately two months which meant that I ended up spending most of my time in the Downtown Café, which had a sudden influx of customers. This increase wasn't really that large but it was enough that Mr Turner, the manager, had his staff working twice as hard over the vacations because it wasn't long before he realized that he was shorthanded to deal with this rise in customers. Often times he would pass by me in the back room muttering, "If you pull off one of your getaway's now Parker, I promise you, I will find you and kill you." Honestly, I didn't know what was more disturbing, the fact that I was now spending most hours of the day locked inside a coffee shop or that my manager was cracking under the strain of dealing with a packed house every day of the week. And there was no doubt in my mind that Mr Turner was cracking because after having announced ten times that he would kill me if I abandoned my post, he reverted to glaring at me from a distance almost as if I was the reason for increasing his customer rate.

But it was only later that I found out the reason for the increase in customers was surprisingly enough the Café's air conditioners. Apparently, a lot of residents around Queens at the time were facing erratic power outages in their homes and so in desperation, they had begun streaming into our coffee shop where the coffees were steaming hot but thankfully the air conditioners were pleasantly cold.

Talking about strain for a minute though, Mr Turner wasn't the only one suffering from it because Aunt May wasn't doing that well either. She was having a hard time at the hospital, especially because the summer heat was finally settling in bringing with it scorching temperatures well above ninety degrees. This of course resulted in a lot of people around Queens suffering heat strokes and painful sunburns, all of which inadvertently led to May dealing with an increase in patient numbers on her front.

In short, the summer of 2013 was a busy one for hospitals and a profitable one for coffee shops, give or take a decently functioning air conditioning unit.

Oh and how could I forget the extravaganza of the summer because believe it or not, it was also the time a street thug going by the handle 'The Shocker' had wreaked havoc on not one, not two, and not three either, but five federal banks in less than a week. I admit that at the time I heard of this I had a few reservations about his name but if anything was clear to me by the time the fifth robbery happened, it was a bad time to be working at a bank and a worse time indeed if you happened to be a security guard at that.

Now, busy as I was with my work at the Café and vigilant as Mr Turner was at keeping an eye on me, I did however find brief gaps in my shifts and lapses in his awareness when I could sneak off for at least twenty minutes at a time before anyone would notice. Those twenty minutes would often be ill-spent searching for the Shocker, a feat which was simply impossible given the lack of clues on his part, and by the time I would be back at the shop my costume would be so drenched that I would have to leave it out in the alley to make sure it didn't stink up the shop.

Funnily enough, I did run into the Shocker not so long after. It was on a cloudy Saturday, the first sunless day of the month, and perhaps it may seem a bit exaggerated to you but I kid you not when I say that we ran into each other near a public library; actually, I initially found him robbing another bank but a few violent circumstances ultimately led to us crashing into a peaceful library space. I find it difficult to remember the exact details of what transpired next but I most definitely recall being hurled into a row of bookshelves, an experience that earned me a great dislike for hardcovers, and I suppose the library may have ended up with two holes in two separate walls by the time we were done. Suffice it to say that the Shocker wasn't as welcoming to his first visit to the library like you were but yet again, who am I judge considering the holes were all my fault even though I was the one being punched through them.

The next time I showed up at the shop, Mr Turner glared at me as he said, "I left you in the backroom for ten minutes, so you better tell me that's blood coming out of your lips and not the ketchup I left on my cheeseburger back there."

"I slipped," I said as I forced a smile.

But apparently, it wasn't a good enough assurance for Mr Turner who pushed past me onto the backroom. I must have been wiping the blood from my face when he shouted, "You got away this time Peter. Now back to work! Chop-chop!"

I am tempted to say that the effort on my part was not in vain but the truth was, the Shocker eventually turned out to be a greater threat as not only did he continue his reign of terror on banks that had the misfortune of being located in and around Queens, but my fight with him had resulted in my Spiderman costume being torn beyond repair; at least to the best of my abilities. Capable though I was at certain things, sewing a piece of cloth back into wearable quality was not one of my hidden talents. Of course, that was no reason for me to give up and I didn't as I smuggled May's sewing kit to my bedroom one night and worked on it for hours, only to come to the inescapable conclusion that my suit now resembled a tablecloth. I shuddered in the dark that night as I dreamt I was fighting Shocker while being draped in a tablecloth. Eventually, you crept into the dream as your voice kept saying, "You crack me up Peter Parker. Spiderman doesn't wear a tablecloth!"

"But I am Spiderman!" I shouted over and over as the Shocker continued punching me into a mountain of hardbound books. In hindsight it was definitely one of the most terrifying dreams I've ever had.

Breakfast was a tight affair the next Sunday morning when May said "Peter, are we going to talk about that swollen cheek of yours?" which of course I immediately replied with, "Do we have to?" Unfortunately, that was not the kind of cheeky talk May approved of and certainly not from her nephew. Perhaps sometimes it got tough for me to keep my head straight under all the questioning that went on around the house because truthfully, there had been countless occasions in which I had shown up for dinner with parts of my face covered in blood. Now, given my track record in high schools it was of no surprise to me that whenever something bad happened May would often ask me "Tell me who beat you Peter," and she did that day as well.

"No one, it was my fault."

"Was it that Thompson kid Ben used to tell me about? Flash?"

"What? No! Didn't you hear me? It was my fault, I made a mistake, I-I fell."

"Seriously that's your excuse?"

"It's the truth!"

"Do you hear yourself right now?"

"I'm telling you the truth! Nothing happened. I just fell."

At that point, May sighed as got this really tired look on her face almost like she knew that there was no way in hell I was going to tell her what was really going on and you know for some reason, that made me feel really sad.

To be truthful, I probably should have handled it a lot better because fights with Aunt May were generally a one-way affair. Often they would end in stalemates or elaborately concocted lies that flew so far north that not only would it make me squeamish about lying in general but also make me internally question my creativity. I kid you not when I tell you that on one particular occasion May caught me out of bed at three a.m. on a school night. She quite literally screamed when she turned on the living room lights to see her nephew half naked as he was attempting to quietly sneak off to bed. In case you're wondering, the naked aspect of the story was because I had somehow managed to lose my casual clothes in an obscure alleyway, which I could not locate after my usual foray as Spiderman. I remember explaining to Aunt May in the calmest voice possible that I had been mugged, to which she said, "Then we gotta call the cops!" and I said, "Well, I mean is-is that the wisest decision? It was dark and I couldn't really see them and I mean they took everything, even my wallet. By now they possibly know who I am and where I live." May only looked more emboldened by that proclamation as she stood up to her full height and said, "I won't be intimidated by thugs! I'm calling the cops" after which one thing led to another and before I knew it, I was describing in terrifying detail how massive the thugs were and how they knew exactly where we live and how they had threatened me about calling the cops. If I have to surmise the entire ordeal, I would most definitely say that it was the most I'd lied on a single night.

I won't say that lying to her was especially hard because after a certain amount of time you get used to the deception. People adapt and so did I, but that was in no means to say that I was okay with being confronted by her and inadvertently spouting a bunch of made up stuff. Misleading Aunt May never felt right but such were the circumstances.

So naturally, when I arrived at the Café on Monday I wasn't feeling that great. There was a grogginess that clouded my senses as I walked through the door but I suppose that could have been the lack of sleep. Also, the ten cups of coffee consumed in the middle of the night weren't doing much either except for the light headache. Still it wasn't all that bad as I served my first round of customers. Sleep deprived as I was, I still had an enhanced metabolism and I was counting on it to kick in any moment and make me feel better. It's funny though because it never did and when Martin, the barista, poked me in the ribs and whispered, "Peter, quit falling asleep! You just passed a twenty to that girl after she paid her full amount! C'mon man, don't mess with the money," I made sure I didn't doze off again by poking my swollen cheek hard; pain is an excellent counter-agent to sleeping on the job. Unfortunately, things only got worse from there on. By the end of the day, I accidentally spilled four cups of hot coffee on a group of teenagers, mixed up an elderly gentleman's order for a ristretto with a latte and also got caught drinking a double espresso in the backroom by none other than Mr Turner himself.

"Having a good time Peter?" he asked me.

"Not really"

"Is it hot enough or should I make a fresh cup for you?" he said pointing at the cup in my hands with a rubbery smile.

"Uh-"

"It's alright. Go on drink it. Might as well finish one last coffee before you leave"

"I'm merely taking a break"

"You misunderstand me," he said as he stepped closer to me and slowly undid the Downtown Café apron from my back as I stood with a half-finished expresso in my hands.

"What is going on?" I asked.

"I've put up with a lot. Frankly, I'm surprised this didn't happen sooner but I really thought you were a good kid. And now, I guess this is it.

"Wai-Wait Mr Turner. Please don't do this."

"Your services will no longer be required," he said as he walked out of the room with my apron.


That night, I walked back home somewhat methodically. Perhaps it was a deliberate choice on my part when I took the longest route possible, which by the way turned out to be a period of deep contemplation. Midway through the journey, when the light headache had evolved quite magnificently into a migraine, I sat down on the curb and gawked miserably at the streetlight shining down on me. But even that moment of silence was interrupted quite abruptly when two fat drops of water fell on my face. The rain began pattering the streets just a minute later making me regret my earlier choice as I ran at top speed till I reached the front door.

"Happy Birthday Peter!"

It was a considerable surprise for me when I saw you and Aunt May standing in the living room, both with looks of bright joy while drops of water seeped down my clothes and onto the carpet. I believe the expression deer in a headlight summarized my situation quite aptly.

"Is this a prank?" I asked which made you giggle and prompted Aunt May to assure me that it wasn't. It really was my birthday. She smiled before retreating to the kitchen thus leaving me alone in the room with you at which point I realized that I had been quite ill-prepared for this interaction, and being completely drenched from head to foot I was not doing well on the 'look your best when in company of the opposite gender' aspect of things. Seeing as how I was at a disadvantage I tried explaining my predicament but instead ended up sneezing quite explosively all over the carpet.

"Got caught in the rain," I sniffled.

"Alright," you said simply, but the odd twist in your face and the veins popping under your neck made me realize that you were trying your best not to burst out laughing.

"Just thought you should know," I muttered before following Aunt May into the kitchen.

May was pulling plates out of the upper cabinet, rubbing them clean with a wet rag when I cornered her.

"She's here because I called her," was what she told me when I asked her what you were doing in our living room. "Also Harry wasn't answering his phone and there's no one else I know of who would come at such short notice."

"But-…"

"You're turning seventeen, kiddo. In a year you'll be out of this house so the least I could do was let you celebrate your birthday with someone other than myself.

"Now go on! Go talk to her!"

I groaned, "It's not that easy."

"Because she's a girl?"

"That's mean," I said narrowing my eyes.

"Sure it is," she said. "Say, why don't you take her upstairs while I get the cake ready?"

It was with a great degree of reluctance that I heeded her advice, though only after I'd changed out of my wet clothes. I was pensive to say the least when you walked around my room picking up odd objects that I did not have the chance to clear away before you had entered. There was a moment when you picked up one of my web shooters, which I'd managed to drop under the far side of my bed the other night, and said "Cool wrist-band." Thankfully, you didn't quite figure out the true purpose of its strange design even though you did keep staring at it for an inordinate amount of time.

Eventually, I interrupted your long suspicious look with an invitation to come with me to the roof. I half-expected you to decline because it was a somewhat slippery climb owing to the recent rainfall. But in the end I had to pull you up quite precariously.

"This is nice," you said sitting under the cover of the eaves while drops of rain gently fell to the ground.

Under the influence of the rain, everything had taken on an ethereal quality. The streets looked clean, the trees looked young and the night felt pleasantly cool and comforting.

"Do you come here often?" you asked.

"Only if I can't sleep. Or I need to think. And today is the perfect day for it," I sighed.

"Bad day?"

"Oh yes."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Nope."

You nodded and curled up your legs carefully on the slanted roof.

"I'm kinda having a bad day myself"

"Wanna talk about it?"

"Well, they sent our scores in yesterday right?"

"Right"

"I didn't do so good."

"What'd you mess up? Economics?"

"Nope, Calculus. And obviously, my mom is making a big deal about it but the thing is I'm worried too because I'm trying for NYU next year and I don't exactly have time on my side."

"Hmm," I intoned feeling the gentle wind whip across my face. As I sat silently beside you, I realized that after everything that had happened back in the library and how I had hesitated that day, I would have to be mad to pass up another opportunity.

"Don't take this the wrong way but I think I can help if it's Calculus. It's one of the few things I'm good at."

You looked surprised at the offer, "But what about you? Aren't you busy?"

"Nah not really" I said. "Trust me, I'll help you."

Oddly enough, I felt quite at ease sitting on the roof with our back against the wall and the eaves sheltering our heads. Perhaps it was the calmness of the situation that helped me feel less temperamental than usual.

"Oh I almost forgot," you said handing me a box the size of a shoebox wrapped in crème paper. "Happy Birthday."

"Hey c'mon, you didn't have to."

"It's not really a proper gift. I just picked up something from my table on the way out. I didn't really have a chance to buy something. But yeah, I wanted you to have this."

"What is it?"

"It's a… polaroid camera. My mom bought it for me out of a thrift store when I was nine. She thought I would bond with it because apparently, I spent a good amount of my childhood dressing up as famous people and then I'd keep bothering her to take pictures of me. But that was all before the guitar happened."

"Wow… you weren't modest at all were you?"

"I was nine and shut up"

"Should I open it?" I asked but when you said there was no hurry I simply tucked it into my trouser pocket.

"I'm sorry if it's a weird gift."

"It's not."

"You're smiling," you said looking discomfited. "You think it's silly, don't you. I should have just bought you something more normal."

"Hey, I don't think it's silly."

"Then why are you smiling?"

"I don't know," I said looking at you. "But this is nice."

You know thinking back for a moment, there is not a lot I remember about school or my early teenage years because if truth be told they weren't that great for me. In fact, that was the point where things got really difficult. But yes, the seventeenth birthday when I got fired from my job and ended the night on the roof with you, I remember that quite vividly even though it wasn't the best of times because despite the ups and downs of my life, I've learned to embrace the parts that really mattered and that night most definitely did.