Billy is deeper on the inside than the simple and commonplace boyish bravado that the outside would suggest. Lying serenely and strangely camouflaged in a high but maintained carpet of green, Billy, lying on his belly, chin cupped upon his thumbs and fingers interlaced like the proverbial church of human digits, looks intently across the asphalt toward 248.
He's thinking about his best pal, whom he doesn't see outside as often as he would like. As they both would like. The two boys formed a bond instantly when the Tobiases moved in down the street some 8 years earlier and the boys looked upon each other for the first time. At this moment they are looking at each other ...
Separated only by a pane of glass.
Andy gazes purposefully through his pane, knowing he has connected visually to his peer, not the odd, casual school acquaintance, but to one whose spirit is kindred to his own. He holds up his right hand and splays his fingers against the glass. The heat of his hand against the cool glass traces in steamy outline their secret code of friendship, loyalty, love ...
Billy, fully aware of this signal's meaning, returns a like gesture, placing hand firmly against the air to meet that solidly against glass. Leaning hard upon his left elbow, trunk twisted to that side, Billy's arm remains fully extended, motionless, as his taut, leonine body continues ensconced in the green.
The friends talk, but it is in their linked minds that communication proceeds. Neither too spare nor too many are the thoughts shared. Enough said, nothing in excess. A mere few minutes contain the unspoken text of the meaningful sharing of what is upon each one's heart and mind. Hands pull away and the electricity cuts out. Billy winds slowly upward, eyes still locked into those of Andy.
Simultaneously, as a precisely executed ritual, both their visceral and visual connection breaks. Each turns to his right, Billy upon the crushed velvet of summer grass, Andy upon aged and cracking green linoleum.
