"So whaddya wanna do?" I asked, gnawing at my fingernail.

"I dunno," he shrugged. "What do you wanna do?"

"I dunno," I echoed him. "Wanna go fishing?"

"I'm sick of fishing."

"Okay, go get your pole," I was not discouraged by his answer. He surprisingly did not protest, turning his back to me to rumage through a corner of the garage. "Tay, Mommy wants you," a 7-year-old's voice informed him. Jessica leaned nonchalanty against the frame of the open garage door, chewing on the straw of an empty juice box. "Tell her I'm busy right now," Taylor mumbled as he threw back a blue tarp. "He says he's busy!" Jessica yelled over her shoulder into the house. "Wanna come fishing with us?" I asked her. She wrinkled her nose and shook her head no. "Good, I'm gonna use your pole then," I told her.

"Well, hi there, Hadley. Where's your mom this morning?" Mrs. Hanson appeared in the door behind Jessica, balancing baby Mackenzie on her hip. I shrugged, "At home, I guess." She nodded at me with a smile, then focused on her son who had successfully produced two fishing poles. "Aren't you tired of fishing yet?"

"Man, why's it always gotta be so hot," Taylor was complaining after only five minutes of the midmorning's heat. We were hiking through backroads and woods to get to a creek that had found its way from Keystone Lake, past Sand Springs and Jenks, and right through our home of Bixby, Oklahoma.

"It's summer, genious," I reminded him.

He shot me an annoyed look; I ignored it. "Where's Zac?" I wanted to know. "I dunno," he said. "What about Ike?" I continued. "I dunno that one either. All I know is I really hafta pee," Taylor said. "Would it have killed you to go before we left?" I critisized. "Just turn around," he ordered as he positioned himself in front of a nearby bush. I sighed and did so. I really had to find new people to spend my days with.

"This one's definately a five-pounder," Taylor assured me, still cranking the reel of his pole. "Oh, yeah, by far the finest specimine these waters have ever seen," I commented dryly, watching his line pull up a muddy hightop sneaker. Disappointment settled on his face. "Hey, didn't this used to be yours?" I laughed and pointed at his catch. "Shut up," he grumbled, throwing the shoe aside.

"Well, I give up. I'm going swimming," Taylor concluded. He stood up on the bank of the creek and began undressing until he was left in his swimming trunks. Suddenly embarassed, I turned my head away from him. "What's your malfunction?" he snorted, noticing my flushed face. "Nothing," I shot back defensively, stealing a glance up at him. "Then what are you waiting for?" he casually motioned for me to strip as he had done. I reluctantly took to my feet, carefully pulling off my clothes, knowing I was being watched.

"You know somethin'? You're turning into a real girl, Had," Taylor remarked as we waded in the water. "What's that supposed to mean? I've always been a girl," I said, indignantly. "It's just different now," he shrugged and then fully submerged himself in the water. I remained where I was, contemplating whether I should be insulted or not. He returned to the surface to find me in the same state of dismay. Obviously amused by my expression, Taylor began laughing, coming closer and grabbing me by my shoulders, then pulling me under the water with him.

"Geez, Hadley, how much do you weigh?" Taylor struggled underneath me.

"If I'm such a 'real girl', you'd know better than to ask me that," I replied, holding tighter around his neck.

It was now after noon sometime, and I was riding Taylor home piggyback (rather uncomfortably, too, I might add). But, of course, this form of transportation was not intentional. Rough housing can, and did, prove damaging: convienently enough, the bottom of my foot had been split open by a rock on the creek's floor when Taylor forced me under without warning, and he was paying for it.

"Boy, Taylor, I sure do feel a lot closer to you now," I said into his ear.

"Funny," he puffed.

Much to my surprise, his thin, 12-year-old body was able enough to carrying mine past the creek, through a farmer's overgrown field, up a hill, and then return me to my front porch.

"Come out after dinnertime?" he asked before he returned to his own home.

"Okay," I agreed with an unexpected smile.

"Catcha later." And he was gone.

At the ripe old age of 12 I was showing the symptoms of becoming a teenager. Such a stupid thing, I thought. If it were up to me, I'd stay 8 or 9-years-old forever. It truly is a perfect age; there are no pressures and not many, if any at all, responsibilities, not to mention childhood innocence is never at stake of being lost. These thoughts twisted a knot into my stomach. Thinking of Taylor only made the butterflies join in the internal fun.

I rested listlessly on my bed for nearly an hour, looking out the window and letting the time pass. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon when I saw him appear in his yard. Without hesitation, I raced down the stairs, unaware of the damage I had caused my injured foot until I was outside. A limp immediately sprung into my step, but I saw Taylor watching me and began an attempt to correct it as I slowly approached him.

"Do you want a bandaid or somethin'?" he wanted to know when I reached him, directing his comment to my foot. "Oh, no, no...it's fine," I said, clenching my teeth to withstand the now throbbing pain. He cracked smiled, "It's really killing you, isn't it?"

I laughed, "Like hell."

Those times have long since whithered and died. Memories of the summer days I took for such grantite at only 12-years-old are sometimes sparked but never completely revived. Even now, at an age I know better than to say out loud, I'm still struggling to understand the child that still dwells inside of me, as well as the adult that has forced its way out. What used to be Taylor's house is now an empty, split level structure at the end of 78th Street that has been drained of its life and spirit. The Hanson the public eye knows became an international success and moved away to California some time ago, but the Hanson I know remains here in Bixby, Oklahoma- where the day never ends.