ORIGINAL:

 

The first time I came in contact with this seemingly impossible theory was in sixth grade.  I was on the school bus waiting for the rest of the students to be dismissed so that we could make the short ride home when Travis, the boy whose family had moved in next-door over the summer, plopped down next to me.  I didn’t say anything as he settled into the seat; I started out the window and pretended not to notice he was even there.  We had never talked before; he normally sat in the seat across from me. 

            “You go to Infant Savior church, right?” he asks me suddenly.

            “Yeah?” I answer hesitantly, what a strange question to ask someone I thought.

            “Good.”

            He then turns back to face forward in his seat, and it seems to me that he wasn’t going to say anything more, but he had me curious, so I bit:

            “Why?”

            “Oh, it’s nothing really.  It’s just that when I was at church this past Sunday, God told me we were soul mates.  I was just wondering if you were catholic because that makes things easier, you know?”

            I just stared at him blankly.  I had never even spoken to him before and in the same breath that he introduced himself he was also practically proposing marriage.  Travis and I went on to become best friends despite the awkward opening lines, and we certainly loved each other on many levels, but we were never in love.

 REVISED:

The first time I came in contact with this seemingly impossible theory was in sixth grade.  I was on the school bus waiting for the rest of the students to be dismissed so that we could make the short ride home when Travis, the boy whose family had moved in next-door over the summer, plopped down next to me.  I didn’t say anything as he settled into the seat; I started out the window and pretended not to notice he was even there.  We had never talked before; he normally sat in the seat across from me.

     I knew Travis, impersonally.  His family had moved into the big colonial style house with the blue chipping paint and the yard that led up to the edge of the Walkill River sometime over the summer, and I had seen him and his younger siblings playing in their new yard on many occasions.  He was tall and gangly and had this moppy red hair and his skin was much whiter than mine, which made me smile because I was always the whitest kid in my class.  And he had more freckles that I had ever imagined possible on one body.  All summer and fall I watched them play, wishing I could know them and that they’d ask me to join them; I rode my bike up and down the street for hours just for the opportunity.  But we hadn’t spoken at all; I almost figured he had never even noticed me.

            “You go to Infant Savior church, right?” he asks me suddenly. 

            “Yeah?” I answer hesitantly, what a strange question to ask someone I thought. 

            He then turns back to face forward in his seat, and it seems to me that he wasn’t going to say anything more, but he had me curious, and I didn’t want our conversation to end, so I bit:

            “Why?”

            “Oh, it’s nothing really.  It’s just that when I was at church this past Sunday, God told me we were soul mates.  I was just wondering if you were Catholic because that makes things easier, you know?”

            I just stared at him blankly.  I didn’t know.  I had never even spoken to him before and in the same breath that he introduced himself he was also practically proposing marriage.  I don’t know what I said back, but I must have said something, because we went on to become best friends, inseparable friends that even our middle school teachers joked, fought and acted like a married couple.    

           Travis was the sweetest 11-year old I have ever known.  Band was last period of the day in 6th grade, and we both played the clarinet very dis-enchantingly; third chair, but it was my favorite class of the day.  I would open my case to pull out and piece together my instrument in hopes of finding a meticulously folded wedge of paper hidden somewhere within my case or instrument.  And when I did, these folded paper wedges opened into elaborate 3-4 page notes about more or less nothing but then again, for an 11-year old they were perfect.         

  Travis and I certainly loved each other on many levels, but we were never in love.