I see you there, Jonathan Smilko. Your weird imagination, stupid ideas. The good ol’ days, gone because we have finally matured.

I picture your hairy buttocks. Hairiest to ever exist. Your And One shorts and oversized shirts. I see your camo jacket, worn from all the days you wore it to school. I smell your scent, the weird scent of a dirty looking yet clean boy.

I see you there, yelling from my garage door, threatening to end our lives “You guys better stop throwing stuff at me!” “I’m gonna jump out of here and kill you!”
“You guys may think I’m kidding but I’m not!”

I see you there, furious when Noah hit you in the face with a stick. Moments later, we are trying to escape you. I see you there, insisting that it was on purpose, that you would get him back no matter what.

I smell your room. The filth that seemed to pile up like the Empire State building; the forest of toys from your younger siblings making my feet hurt; the sound of your mother and father yelling at kids, barking demands like drill sergeants; the small twin bed with little padding and the dull dark blue color of your walls; the plastic covering the windows to keep out the cold that made a rattling sounds like a baby's toy every time the air came on.

You didn’t have much but your house was full of junk from your siblings. The fullness of your house allowed more time to go outside and do delinquent things. We would dress up in all the camo we could find so that we became nearly invisible. As we snuck off into the woods aside my abode it was as if we were in World War 2 trying to hide from the Nazies. We would be searching through the tall grass and around all the trees finding anything that grabbed our attention. Any noises we heard made our ears perk up like dogs as we tried to discover the source. Cars would drive by making us drop to the ground as if a sniper's red dot was on our heads. We didn’t want to be found. Jason would tell us when we got home that that man did not want us out there on his land because he brings a group of steer in once a year and didn’t want us hurt. We didn’t care, we thought that would make it even more of a thrill if we were to run into some cattle. Most important was that no one ever got hurt. We grew out of our “play in the forest” faze and now they are just great memories to look back on.

I see you there, Jonathan Smilko, companion and friend.