The Boy Next Door

Most of my childhood took place in his backyard.

Really, most of my life in general has been lived in his spaces. In his backyard, in front of the fireplace in his living room after spending as much of the day as we possibly could outside, at his kitchen table with his parents, in his bedroom.

His house felt the way I imagined a home should. His parents were both home by dinner time, engaging with their kids, interested in even the menial details of their day. He and his brothers, despite the small age gap between them, were best friends. And of course, his house was always open. His mother was so warm. All the neighborhood kids knew she would welcome any of us, anytime. Me especially. She didn't have a daughter herself.

My own house, in stark contrast, was always empty and I hated being alone. He was the first person I met when my dad and I moved to the neighborhood. I remember walking up to our new house for the first time with my stuffed cat in my arms. I looked over to see the boy next door, about my age, standing in his yard, straddling his bike like he was about to go somewhere. Just standing there, staring right at me.

We finally met the next day when his mom dragged him over to introduce themselves and say hello.

It didn't take long after that. I don't know if he liked it at first, when I would follow him everywhere, but eventually he came to accept me and then, even enjoy having me around. His friends became my friends. His family became my family, and I spent more time at his house than my own.

Growing up in the place we did made us rather creative. It was over an hour drive to a place that you could even call a city and our town wasn't exactly built for entertainment. What we did have was a whole lot of space.

From the street view, driving by our neighborhood, I'm sure it looked like any other rural suburban landscape, but in the backyard, our homes were connected by nothing but land and even further back, thick woods, for what felt like miles. His backyard was home to a large pond located a few hundred feet back from where they built the houses. The pond was a source of entertainment for all the kids in the neighborhood.

Despite to this day never knowing what was lurking at the bottom or what chemicals might have been swimming in the water with us, we spent many happy summers in there. We'd dive and cannonball and play games in the water all day until our entire bodies were pruny and we were almost too tired to climb out. We held fast to those days before the winter would come again and turn our pond into something else entirely.

Once it froze over, the pond made for new entertainment. We all learned to skate on this pond, back when we were just kids and I still looked at him as the last boy in the world I’d ever think of in that way.

What was just fun for us, became something entirely different for him. He made this pond a place to build a career. When skating turned into a game of who could skate the fastest we saw him fly, and when the older boys showed up with a puck and a stick we learned what he could really do and I knew then, that out of all of us, he had a real shot to make it out of here.

Before we even made it to high school, he had already decided on the two great loves of his life, hockey and me. He was always like that, from the first day I met him. Steadfast. It was the reason I was so drawn to him, the reason I eventually decided I loved him too. I wanted to be like that.

He figured out what he wanted and that was it. Ruthless pursuit. He could do that with anything. I liked being around someone like him. It made me feel like maybe things would be okay. Maybe someday my life would actually be the stable, safe haven I'd always wanted.

But I messed up.

I put so much faith in him that I never learned how to have any in myself and now everything was about to change and I didn't know what I'd do when it did. Who would I turn to when he was gone?

It wasn't that I wasn't happy for him. This was the most incredible thing to happen, to not only him, but our entire town in decades. A number 1 draft pick is something to be proud of no matter who you are, but for a boy whose skills were born on a pond in his backyard, it was more like a fairytale.

But if this was a fairytale, who was I in his story? He was everything in mine.

He's leaving tomorrow and I don't know if I'll come back here to the pond once he's gone. I already feel afraid being out here without him. I'm afraid of who he'll be when he comes back, if he'll be the same boy who left me. I'm more afraid of who I will be.

Sometimes it feels like no matter what I do I'm always running in place. I grow older, I look different, I find new interests, and change jobs, but inside I'm always that little girl holding her stuffed cat and watching the boy next door, wanting to be part of his world.

He says nothing will change. In his head, I'm sure he really believes that. Steadfast.

I know better. I know how things can change even when you don't want them too. I know how distance and time can alter your perspective.

I don't want him to forget me. I don't want the safety of this place and his presence to be gone forever. But most of all I don't want to find myself, five years from now, still feeling like that little girl. This time watching the boy next door as he glides on the ice, in front of thousands of screaming fans, while I'm alone in the audience, wanting to be a part of his world.