He stood at the edge of the yard, rather a long distance away. Arms crossed in front of him, his eyes squinting into the high sun of noon, he seemed determined. Sometimes, even on sunny summer days, the hardest thing to be is a boy. As the initial minutes of our visit wore on, he got closer to the house, until he was peering in, watching us and waiting for the right moment to enter.
The last time I’d seen Julian he was barely able to walk, much less speak. Now he was a boy, walking and talking and, as he would show us later, mastering the ukulele. His Mom is one of my closest friends, whom I’ve known since I can remember, having met her at Suzie’s birthday parties in the Junes of our childhood. There’s a bond that a childhood friendship carries that is like no other, and in many ways it is as unbreakable as the bonds of family. Sometimes more. As her son Julian walked in and sheepishly said hello, I was flooded with memory, happiness and warmth.
His younger brother Cameron hid behind Mommy for a while, with a shy but irrepressible smile across his face. He would break into giggles periodically and I hoped his happiness would last. I think that should be the goal of all the world: keeping that childhood happiness for as long as possible. The lucky ones among us never lose it. Most of us do at some point, then spend the rest of our lives trying to get it back, with varying degrees of success. Or maybe I’m just conflating happiness with innocence. They are both too often fleeting, as was our visit to Connecticut.
The days were idyllic. It was hot and sunny – perfect for some time in and beside the pool. The house lent itself to easy relaxation, with its large windows and airy layout. Still new enough to be uncluttered, and lived-in enough to be comfortable, it was the perfect backdrop to a reunion with friends we hadn’t seen in far too long. On our way in, a swath of evening primrose lifted their bright canary faces next to the brick walkway. Nearer the front door, a clump of shasta daisies was at the height of its bloom, as if welcoming us with its greatest finery. Behind them, waves of shrubs softened the long lines of the house. Everything whispered ‘home’ and erased the recent bout of traffic we had to endure to get there. More than an oasis, this was a very real realm of respite, and as the door closed behind us, so did the troubles of the world.
We enjoyed our brief time there immensely; it was exactly what Andy and I needed to start the summer off, and I’m hopeful we left a little something behind too (besides the proliferation of feathers that remains the tell-tale sign of a visit). We’d been warned that Julian would ask a million questions, but the inquisitive nature of children was never an annoyance to me. Quite the contrary: seeing that insatiable curiosity, when one question leads to another, as if he already understood that the process of getting to knowledge was its own fulfilling journey, was a balm on my own soul, a reminder of another kid who had nothing but questions and a world unwilling to be bothered.
As for his fabulous younger brother Cameron, there were other happy reminders of my childhood mirrored in him. He liked feathers and sequins and all sorts of fancy items that lend magic to an unadorned summer day. He liked dressing up and expressing himself in costume and theatrics. He was on the verge of being exactly who he was meant to be, and yet also on the verge of drawing back into himself.
No matter what the rest of their lives brought, they had this summer – the first time in their pool, the first time in those pink pumps, and the first time we got to visit them. I know a thing or two about brothers, especially brothers who are dramatically different in so many ways. Brotherly love is almost unbreakable, but it doesn’t happen without tensions and traumas. Still, it’s best to dwell on days like this, when your brother is your best friend.
No one else will go through the exact same things you go through.
No one else in the world will experience the exact same basic upbringing, remember the same house, the same worries, the same resentments, the same triumphs, the same love.
I hope they hold onto that above all else. Not everyone does.
By the time we were reluctantly ready to leave, Julian was willing to sing us a song. It encapsulated our time there, and in many ways our entire summer.
{Check out Julian’s other videos here.}
