The Locket

         I don’t remember when and how we first met. We had a class together the first year after she moved to Houston. It might have been the daily Frisbee matches with the high schoolers in the neighborhood. It could have bike riding or frog collecting. She lived four houses down the street from me, so it almost could have been anything. I remember throwing rocks with her after school sometimes trying to knock down Frisbees along the street.
         “Bet you can’t knock it down.”
         “Oh yeah? Watch this.”
         We never were very good shots. I guess that’s the original reason we started climbing the neighborhood trees. We climbed all of them in my backyard, even the skyscraper pecan. She had to boost me up to the lowest branch, and then I had to reach down to help her up. We got to be really fast at it after a few weeks of practice. From the top branches you could see over the roofs to the closest neighborhood streets and to the cars zipping down the freeway. We spent a lot of time up there just talking and throwing things on the roof or at our younger siblings below. Neither of our siblings could reach the branches we claimed as our own, so our little prizes of bullying decorated an overhead branch with trinkets like shoelaces, slap bracelets, or even a favorite watch depending on our moods. Around the side of my house was an area overgrown with banana trees. We used to call it ‘The Jungle.’ No one ever went back there. The plants were fence height stalks with umbrella leaves that formed a ceiling to hide beneath. It choked out most of the sunlight, so the ground never grew any grass. A wooden gate that led out to the front yard had sunken into the mud and was rarely opened. It was a perfect place to evade violin practices and parents.
         “Mark,” my mom would call out, “Mark?”
         “Stop laughing. You’re going to get us caught.”
         “I can’t. It’s so funny.” She picked up some wet dirt and smeared it on the side of my face. “Why do you have to play violin so much anyway?”
         I grabbed onto her wrists. “My mom takes away my allowance if I don’t practice enough.” She smeared the mud on my arms.
         “I think it’s pretty sometimes.”
         “Shhh. She’s coming this way.”
         She and I had these great battles back there when we could get away with it. We’d gather our action figures, and they were set in strategic positions for war. A nearby sprinkler flooded the ground for a swampy lake in the middle of The Jungle. I’d leave it on, and we’d take off our shoes and socks. When the mud could slide easily between our toes then it was time. In the middle of our battlefield we dug out the lake with buckets and placed our last scoops of mud by the wall. Handfuls would fly across knocking down Thundercats and My Little Ponies. I’d run to the lake and make a huge splash across her side, drenching myself, but it was worth it. She’d leap to my side and dump my own buckets over my men. The warriors by the gate were usually her first targets. My favorite Thundercat always lurked around there with a battalion of Star Wars Imperial Soldiers for protection. She liked to put her ponies in the trees hiding behind leaves and purplish still unripe bananas, so I’d run by with my hand out, and they’d drop to the ground. Decapitation was a preferred method of death. Pop a few heads and throw them in the lake. Thundercats were really hard to reassemble as I recall. When the fury was over, we sprayed each other with hose-guns and retreated to the tree to dry ourselves in the top branches.
         “What do you hate most about school? I hate homework.”
         “Homework’s not too hard. I hate math with Mrs. Pitchford.’
         “Mrs. Pitchfork? Yeah, she’s weird.”
         It was close to the time when she moved away that we had The War. We broke out her little brother’s GI Joe’s after tricking him into leaving his room, and I smuggled out a crate of my little sister’s Barbie Dolls. I had left the sprinkler on a little too long, and everything was a sludgy and slimy mess. I’m not sure who tackled who first, but we were completely soaked in mud when it was over. Dismembered and decapitated toys were everywhere. Half arms and legs sticking out of the mud. GI Joes plastered to the nearby brick wall. Blue and yellow pony heads attached to pink bodies. The carnage was horrible and the fighting lasted for hours. In the aftermath we sat and talked in high branches until the sky turned black.
         “I hate how stars never come out here. Back in Mississippi you could see them.”
         I shrugged. “School’s almost over. We can go swimming soon.”
         “Where do you think we’ll be after school.”
         “College?”
         “Like after that.”
         “Working?”
         She took her hands off the branch above her and scooted next to me. “You know what I mean. We should get married, and so should my brother and your sister. We could travel across America living in a mobile home. It’d be fun.”
         “Cool, I’ve never been outside Texas. Have to bring my violin.”
         “It’s nice out there. You could play in every state. Be a traveling musician.”
         “That sounds great, and what would you do?”
         “I want to be a veterinarian. We’d have as many dog and cats as we fit in our house.”
         I pointed down at her mom walking to the fence and we got quiet.
         “You two up there? It’s time for dinner.” We stayed quiet until she spotted us with her flashlight.
         “See you tomorrow,” she whispered as she climbed down.
         I didn’t see her for a week after that and spent most of that time head hunting and doing reconnaissance for M.I.A. soldiers. Her dad grounded her for losing a locket she had gotten for her birthday. I told her over my walkie talkie that I’d look for it, but it never turned up. A few weeks later I found out she was moving very soon, and when she left I never saw her again. I don’t remember the last day I saw her before she left. I only remember sitting in my tree watching her house for a long time.
         It wasn’t until many years later when Dad went to the hospital and I was taking care of the house that I found the locket. On his chores list was to uproot and clear The Jungle, and in pulling the roots up I found Luke Skywalker, three My Little Pony heads, and her heart-shaped locket in the mud. I cleaned it off but it was in bad shape. The picture inside was soaked and unrecognizable. I used to carry it around in my violin case. My strongest memory of her was sitting on the couch making faces at me while I tried to practice scales and etudes. My mom insisted that I practice every day regardless of whether or not there was company, especially her. People ask me sometimes what that beaten up piece of junk is, and I usually just shrug. I’ve never told anyone this story. Most times I can’t even bring up her name.