b'final mattersIndependence DayThe summer all my seasons changedBY KEN GAGNEChicopee, Mass.C lick. Click. Click. matter. I preferred real games like baseball, bas-1980Themulti-coloredketball, soccer, tennis, and street hockeyany-LEGO blocks snappedthing physical. togetherinrhythm,Jimmy and I were almost finished building our likeapocketwatchfortress when my ears perked to the sound of two ticking off the final sec- boys calling my name in front of the house. Hey onds of my childhood. Kenny, you back there? the first voice shouted.Jimmy, my best friend, sat across from me atWe need you! Lets go, the second one yelled.an auburn-stained picnic table on his back deck.When I tilted my head to sharpen my hearing, It was midmorning, but the young New Eng- the kids called again. The beautiful noise lifted me land sun had already set the town on fire, andoff the bench, and I glanced at Jimmy. Ill be right the lavalike floor planks seared my bare feet. Jimmys mom, a cheerful womanback, I said. with a lemon meringue bouffant, brought out two Hoodsie ice cream cups,I hustled down the deck steps, sprinted to the fence and spied the boys on vanilla and chocolate swirl. I lapped up my snack so fast that the wooden spoontheir bikes, coasting in tight circles like vultures. It was Craig and Robbo, my splintered my tongue. Hurry up and eat before yours turns into a milkshake,buddies from school, who lived a couple of miles away.I said with a slurp. Craig beamed, Hey KG, a bunch of us are playing Wiffle ball in your church My pal pushed his cup aside. I will, gotta find a few more big pieces first. parking lot. We need you to make even teams. Come on.AC/DCs Back in Black blared from a boom box in the backyard below,Oh, um, sure. I tried to keep my cool. Gimme a sec! I zipped across the where Jimmys older brother Dave played Wiffle ball with his buddy Mike.backyard, barely touching the ground. Who else will be playing? Whose bat will Pretending to care about my rinky-dink LEGO fortress, I watched those 12thwe use? Will they want me to pitch? I skipped up the steps and bounded onto the graders pitch and hit. I was praying a ball might sail onto the deck, ready to snagdeck, while Jimmy fumbled with two mismatched LEGO pieces and Nazareths it like gloving a dinger in the Fenway bleachers. Love Hurts wailed out of the boom box. It was a Saturday, tail end of June. School had let out for the summer the dayUm, I gotta go, I said.before, releasing us parolees into three months of freedom. I definitely wouldntI know.miss the jailhouse taupe hallways of Bellamy Middle School. It was named forIll call you tomorrow. Maybe we can do something.Chicopees Edward Bellamy, author of Looking Backward, about a boy whoOkay. Jimmy didnt look up. wakes from a dream to find himself in a futuristic utopian society. Oh, andLeaving him flat that day, in the lie of it all, I knew wed never play together werent we living a dream here in our Chicopia? again. In a sad, cruel ending to a sweet, innocent relationship, I abandoned my Jimmy lived a few doors down from me on Langevin Street. We didnt havefirst real friend. I let him melt away like ice cream in the sun. On that scorching a lot in common, but he was agreeable, funny, and benign. One of the onlymorning, in that eyeblink of time, my little life had changed forever. I needed to boys my age in the neighborhood, he invited me to his house every day. Asidemove on, grow up, test myself and expand my world beyond the limits of Lan-from his huge plastic bin of LEGO blocks, he had all the latest toys and gad- gevin Street. But pursuing those goals came with the price of leaving everything gets: remote control cars, Transformers, Star Wars action figures, and infiniteelse behind. board games. First thing on Christmas mornings, Id call to ask what gifts heKen Gagne is an independent author from Maplewood. This article is an excerpt from got because I played with his stuff more than my own. The Atari console in hishis memoir, Youre Gonna Miss Me Someday. You can find his work at kengagne-basement was the main attraction, but I never mastered the joystick. It didntbooks.com.38/ matters magazine / summer 2024'