OLD FRIENDSNow, confined in a nursing home, the two old friends shared memories of an earlier time when both had been young – children, really – living next door and playing together, running through yards, shouting with joy – arms and legs flying, the wind a whisper upon their backs.
Their mothers were friends, joking as they hung clothes in the backyard to dry, a shared intimacy of socks, shirts, and underwear. In the evenings they drank a few beers, laughed, and played cards. Both women were single and found in each other a shared commiseration. This is when the two boys, Matt and Cassidy, got to know one another, watching Bonanza and Father Knows Best and other shows on their black-and-white television sets that sat like squat sumo wrestlers against the wall. A television antenna, twi
