MY FIRST FRIEND                     by Kyler James After fifty years, my parents were finally selling the house in New Jersey, and we all went home to celebrate our last Thanksgiving in the suburbs.  We had an hour before champagne and hors d’oeuvres, so I took my six-year-old nephew out for a walk.  There was a little group in front of the Manley’s house down the street.  “Let’s go that way, Jake,” I said to my nephew.   “I think I know those people.” “OK, Kyler,” he said, glad to be free of my sister’s discipline inside the house.           As we approached, I couldn’t believe who I saw.  I hadn’t seen him since high school.   Even through his beard, I recognized him right away – it was his eyes.  “Hank!” I waved, approaching the house on the corner, across from the synagogue.   “Hello,” he said in a deep voice.  “I don’t know who you are.” “I’m Jim – but I go by the name Kyler now.” “Oh, how are you?” he asked gruffly, introducing me to his two boys, out for a football toss.   Had he heard strange things about me over the years?  The weird guy down the street who changed his name, queer actor turned fortune teller?  He, of course, had gone to Princeton.   He, of course, had two sons playing football on the front lawn. “What do you do?” he asked. “I work as a psychic counselor,” I confessed, knowing well how most people reacted to my profession.  “And I’m a writer, too, trying to get my novel published.  And you?” “I’m a lawyer,” he replied, almost defiantly, as if he were proving to the materialistic world that it was so.  His teeth were clenched, as were his brother Michael’s.  It was subtle, something only a gay psychic would perceive.  Could it be a case of hidden homophobia in my hometown?  In this day and age?  Out on the front lawn with his brother and two cute sons?  Could he possibly remember our last adventure together as friends, at the ages of eight and nine?  When we snuck around my house naked?  When I tried to lure him into having some fun with me?                                                                                                                              *****           We were up in my room – and no one was home that day.  Our clothes were in two piles on the floor.  This had undoubtedly been my idea – as were all the ideas we had back then – acting out My Fair Lady and Sound of Music – putting on plays in the garage.  This day’s adventure was the perfect testament to childhood freedom: “How come mine is big and stands up straight – and yours just hangs there?” I asked him as I danced around upstairs. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Well, can’t you make yours stand up like mine?” “I don’t want to.” “Why not?” “I don’t know.” I stopped dancing. “Hank, what do you like better – a boy’s chest or a girl’s chest?” “A girl’s chest.” “Oh…. I like both.” “I think I better put my clothes on now.” “Why?  No one’s coming home…. Let’s play around a little….” “No…. I think I better go home.” That’s all I remember from our last day as friends, a day that seemed so natural to me back then.  As always, I created – and enforced – our games.   “Mix-up” was my favorite.  One of us would blindfold the other, spin him around and lead him to familiar parts of our yards.  We’d be quizzed on where we actually were.  And it was the most astounding feeling to remove the blindfold and to realize that we were standing on our own front steps.  Such alternative perceptions of reality!  How creative we were together! Hank and his brother were forbidden to play with me soon after the stripping incident.  Had he told his parents about it?  His father wanted his boys to play “normal” games like “Cowboys and Indians” and “Cops and Robbers.”  Guns were required, not imaginations.  They grew up to be normal, healthy Americans – a lawyer and doctor, respectively, (and respectably.)  I was Peter Pan and would never grow up, so I retreated into my fantasy world and decided to be…an actor!                                                       ***** “I’m a lawyer.” “Oh,” I kidded, “I read cards for a bunch of lawyers from Chicago once.  I know all about you lawyers!” There was a group of young, attractive lawyers sitting at a table in Seppi’s Restaurant at the Parker-Meridien Hotel, where I used to read Tarot cards.  Their boss was paying for all of them to have readings.  The first one sat down and asked me about three girlfriends, Anne, Rachel, and Sally. “Does Sally have a dog?” I asked immediately, before seeing any cards. “I don’t think so,” he replied. “Yes she does – and the dog’s name is Sam.” “I really don’t think she has a dog.” “No, she does – she’s got a dog named Sam – I’m sure of it,” I insisted. “Wait a minute…you’re right!  Sally has a German Shepard named Sam!  Incredible!” Having now convinced this hot, young lawyer from Chicago that I was “the real thing,” I proceeded to tell him all about his future fame, something he might not have believed – and therefore might never have created – had I not proved myself with the dog’s name.  I was used to this; being a psychic was like a continual audition from my acting days:  I constantly had to prove my talents. But Hank was nothing like the cool lawyer from Chicago.  He seemed more like a hunter:  I could imagine him with a rifle, his eyes glistening over the barrel, shooting at deer and rabbits.   I remembered his pictures from my high school yearbook.  While mine were from the school plays, his pictures were from the wrestling team – broad physiques and no smiles, scowling, ready to pounce on their prey. My nephew kept running toward the synagogue across the road. “Jacob,” I cried, “stay away from the cars.  Come on.”  I took his hand and we headed back to our house. “Good seeing you, Hank.” “You too,” he smiled, his jaw still clenched. For cocktail hour, my father had resurrected the old movie projector from the cellar to watch a few of our childhood birthday parties.  How sublimely sentimental for our last Thanksgiving in the house!  There were the birthday parties when I was three (four candles on the cake for good luck), four (five candles) and six (seven candles).  And sitting next to me at every birthday was my cute, little best friend, Hank – now a lawyer, possibly a hunter, proud father of two young football studs.   As I say goodbye to my New Jersey childhood, as my parents prepare for their Florida move, as the houses and yards where we used to play are soon to become memories – I say goodbye to the hunters, the killers of my past:  the fathers who tried to kill our masculine sensitivity, our creativity – always ready to wrestle with the world of money, wives, kids, cars, big houses, and ever-so-relaxing Thanksgivings, playing football with their sons on the front lawns where we grew up.     *Note: This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, is entirely coincidental. A bit about Kyler James: Kyler James is a graduate of New York University and a former actor. Known primarily for his work as a psychic counselor, Kyler also wrote a psychic column in NEXT Magazine, the popular New York weekly, and has done many Tarot reading gigs at NYC hotspots. Kyler James is the author of a novel titled The Surprise Ending, and is currently working on his second novel, The Voices of Children.