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“Good,” the boy says, even though he has a nasty scrape on his arm.
“My name is Dr. Davis and I’ll be taking care of you, so don’t worry, alright? You did a good thing by coming in today! Your parents should be here shortly, okay?”
The children nod along obediently.
“So, the nurse has pulled up your x-rays and … good news! Your arm is not broken, young man! You just have a scrape, which we’ll be cleaning up right now. And then you can be on your way.”
They look at each other in ecstasy. The girl puts her arm around his shoulders and whispers words of encouragement to him.
“Are you two … brother and sister?” I ask them.
“No. We’re best friends!” she tells me.
“I have a best friend just like you. She recently broke her arm, and I have to take care of her,” I confess.
“Have you been friends long?” the boy asks me.
“As a matter of fact, yes. We’ve been friends since middle school.”
“So … since last century?” the girl asks me.
I don’t know whether to laugh or be offended.
“Come on, now! I’m not that old!” I start laughing. “Okay, then. When your parents arrive, you’re all good to go!”
“Thank you!” they say in unison.
I leave the emergency room after taking one last glance at the two children. They remind me so much of Emmy and myself at that age.
Has it truly been that long?
I guess it’s been over half of my life. I’ve known, and loved, Emmy for over half my life.
A memory creeps up on me, most likely prompted by the interaction between the two children. All those years ago, I was an awkward thirteen-year-old boy who was just starting out at Fenway.
It’s almost as if I can see myself, like a movie playing in front of my eyes. A movie of my own life.
The schoolyard is busy with children of all ages, making an unbelievable amount of noise and creating chaos all around. It’s lunchtime but I forgot my lunch at home, so I just sit on a low wall and look around, even though my stomach is rumbling.
“Come on, pass the ball this way!” I hear a boy yelling and, for a second, I think that he’s talking to me.
But, he’s not. He’s with a group of older boys who are throwing a basketball around, not paying attention to me.
“Who are you supposed to be?”
I turn around, startled.
At first, I can’t see her very well. She’s standing against the sun, so most of her figure is enveloped in a halo created by the light. I squint and she moves a little to the right.
“I don’t know who I’m supposed to be, but my name is Evan Davis. What about you?”
“I’m Emmy Williams. Nice to meet you!” She holds out her hand, and I notice that she has to be a couple of years younger than me. She’s probably around ten or eleven.
The girl called Emmy Williams has long, silky, dark hair that reaches her waist and flows in the wind. Her eyes are so blue that they’re almost transparent. I stare for a little bit before realizing that it might be … weird. She’s a good-looking girl, but younger than me.
“Hi, Emmy. Do you go here? At Fenway?” I ask her clumsily.
“No. I just come here for the great food.” She rolls her eyes. “Of course, I go here. Why else would I be at this school, in the middle of the day? Are you new?”
