Silver Bracelet

         I was best friends with a girl once. We used to do everything together, although now we have gone our separate ways. She gave me this silver bracelet. I never wore it, as it was not quite my style. But I treasured it for all it represents. It is round, and I thought our friendship would be like that: never-ending. It has my favourite Scripture verse inscribed in it: who can find a virtuous woman? For her price is far above rubies. We both loved that verse. It characterized everything we lived for: purity, simplicity, innocence, and womanhood. It still does today, only we went our separate ways.

            But we used to do everything together. I was the adventuresome one. Whenever she came over to my house for a sleepover, we were always bored. It’s no fun exploring things you already know inside out. Which I did. I explored things that were new and, which goes without saying, unexplored.

            She lived on a farm. You know, lots of land, fields with hay bales, a barn with a rope to swing from hay loft to hay loft, lots of cats (which they called barn animals), a chicken coop…all sorts of exciting things. And of course, they had a four wheeler in the summer and a ski-doo in the winter; and they had a corn field right across the street. Lots to explore!

            We were kids. And we were the oldest kids in our families. She had six younger brothers and sisters, I had seven. So when we got together at her place, chores were interesting. We would pull weeds out of a huge garden, fill bowl after bowl with green beans, find eggs hidden at the bottom of warm chicken nests, and then disappear in miles of acreage.

            Her dad hunted deer. I wasn’t particularly interested in finding out more details than that; however, there were these curious hunting shacks built high up in the trees with very tempting ladders leaning precariously against the trunks of the trees beneath them. Of course, I decided we had to climb them, although she said we were not allowed. But we were miles away from their house (still on their property of course), and there was no way we would be caught, especially once we were inside. From that vantage point, we could see everything, but nobody could see us. I think that was the point.

            We discovered a burr bush on our way to one of these shacks. We took as many as our hands could carry and brought them up into the shack and stuck them to the sackcloth curtains. You see, her brothers were chasing us, and they were using their dog to track us. His name was Rocky. A big black dog, who loved to run alongside the four wheeler, with his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth. He was a good watchdog, and also good at hunting. So we knew the dog would find us. We figured the burrs would come in handy for keeping the boys away from our hideout. At least while supplies lasted.

            But the boys never came. After all, we had the four wheeler, so they would have needed to walk. I suppose it was farther than we had thought.

            That corn field across the street offered another amusing adventure. For some reason, the boys were chasing us again. I think we found this very amusing. We never chased them back though, even if they caught us. That usually would have taken all the fun out of our day. So we made them chase us. The corn was higher than our heads. Big yellow stalks. I discovered strange looking beetles living in those long pointy leaves; their yellow, red and black shells shining out from their dried out homes. But we were running so fast that all we cared about was keeping our mouths closed, despite the laughter that was hindering our speed. Then when we were deep in the field, we would sit and listen.

            We had walkie-talkies. This was our way of keeping the boys from giving up. Otherwise they would get bored and go find something else to do. We were in the middle of the field with our walkie-talkies, coaxing the boys closer to our hideout. Every once in a while, Rocky would bound through the field and find us, then run back to the boys who were much further away. They eventually found us.

            I’ve been back in a corn field since then, although in a different place. It has a completely different charm. I suppose being with my best friend, chased by her brothers, discovered by her dog, and surrounded by beetles has a special charm that cannot be replayed in any other time or setting.

            My best friend had a pool. I loved swimming in those days, probably because growing up I didn’t have a pool. Just a little-kid-pool that was about one foot deep. Deep enough for a baby to drown in, but not deep enough for a grown kid to play in. Her pool was above-ground, which in my understanding meant “the rich people’s pool.” Not to say we were poor. We just didn’t have a pool. But I was a kid. And my best friend did.

            I remember one hot summer day. I don’t remember how hot, just that both of us were dying to go swimming. But the pool was green. So green that you could not see your hand in front of your face when under the water. So green that you couldn’t see the boaters swimming until they bit your foot that was under you. But it didn’t matter. We were hot.

            We had goggles, and we decided we would try and catch each other under the water. We had so much fun that we laughed until water ended up in our lungs. Green water. But that didn’t matter.

            One early spring we were across the road in her hay field. Huge bales of hay all rolled up in awkward places. The snow was melting. The field was filled with these hay bales, dirty piles of snow, huge slushy puddles, and ski-doo tracks. Her ski-doo was always out in winter. I was over again one night. We were bored. I think the ski-doo had gone around and around and around that field until we knew we had visited every nook and cranny.

            Her brother had a cool idea. We attached skis to the back of the ski-doo. We were no longer bored. He went first. I don’t remember what happened. He probably fell into the puddles and lost a boot. All I remember is that he went back to the house. He was wet. But I really wanted to try. Since my friend had to drive the ski-doo, I got to try the skis. I remember being scared out of my life. Soaked and terrified that I would hit one of the bales of hay coming around the corners of the field, but laughing like crazy.

            None of us got sick with pneumonia. We may have got a cold, but every kid has a cold in the spring. Even adults get them, but rarely because of skiing through puddles of ice and snow behind a ski-doo. So I don’t think our parents connected the cold to the puddles. But we never did the same activity again. I suppose this is good, because now I have one more special memory, unique from all the rest.

            Now my friend and I have gone our separate ways. She still is the oldest kid in her family, so am I. But we aren’t kids anymore. I don’t know if she remembers my name. I remember hers. I remember so many things. And I still have a silver bracelet in my box of memories.