James

We caught him.
Actually, we caught both of them.

I was holding down the one from next door, I don't even remember his name. James was held down by his brother, my best friend, in the hallway of their house near the bedroom the boys shared.

"Why did you do that?" I asked the little kid from next door.

"I felt like it." Bang. I knocked his head into the carpet. Hard.

"Why do you always have to annoy us?" Daniel asks his brother James.

"Why do you have to annoy US?" he retorts. Daniel grips his neck and squeezes.

I don't remember what they did, or what we were doing. I remember that they were bored and we were aggressive teenages, and they got in our way as little kids do, and we tried to control them by inspiring fear. It didn't work. It never does.

I knocked the kid's head into the carpet a few more times. I even felt like I was being mean but we were trying to teach them a lesson.

I held James while his brother pulled his pants down. Their sister came screeching in and yelled at everyone. She always did completely overreact. James pulled his pants back up. I looked at him and his eyes were so angry and hurt and embarrassed.

The little kids ran off.

Months later, we moved away to another suburb. We tried to organise funness with the kids we spent everyday with, but we needed to be driven around and it was all too hard.

James died in the age of eight.

He collapsed in that hallway of a brain aneurism.

We found out about it months later, my Dad told us. Later still, we organised bowling and movies with them. I expected them to be crying in our arms, I was emotionally ready for it. They were normal and fun, James had been dead for 8 months.

Gone was the bunkbed, the room converted into a single bedroom. A huge picture was placed into the family room. James really was a happy kid.

A couple of years later I hung out with Daniel again, we went to the sychronised music/fireworks thing they used to have. The fireworks never quite matched up to the songs because light goes way faster than sound.

He had grown up much faster than I, he had been in fights and kissed girls and teased me because I hadn't. I was in highschool, I didn't know any girls.

Now, I wouldn't recognise any of the family if I passed them in the street. I look out for the sometimes.

I regret not being there at all for my once bestfriend and I regret the only real memory I have is the one above - we spent everyday for years together. I always wonder, would I remember James at all if he lived happily ever after, and if that were the case, would I need to?