Trust

When I was eight, Nate Stanton, a slightly awkward nine-year-old boy, moved into the colonial across the street. Before his arrival, I had lived in a mainly kid-free neighborhood so I was excited at the thought of hanging out and going on the bus with someone similar in age.

The day our new neighbors, Lynn and Rob Stanton, moved in, my mom insisted we walk over and introduce ourselves. As we headed across the hot pavement, I hoped Nate and I would hit it off, or the summer would be a long and lonely one since both my parents worked full-time.

When I finally met Nate, I noticed we looked like brother and sister, other than Nate's height which was an inch or so taller than me at the time, we both were thin and had short, chestnut hair. The other feature that stood out was the dimple on his left cheek, the placement seemed so perfect, almost fake.

"Why don't you take Nicky to the backyard and show her the spot for the tree house," Nate's mom said cheerfully.

Nate seemed slightly quiet and shy, but he shrugged his shoulders.

"Ok," he said with a prepubescent tone.

When we walked towards the backyard and turned the corner, I was surprised how open and flat the yard was. We were never invited over by the grumpy old-man who lived there before.

Nate pointed up to two, larger-than-life, oak trees situated off to the right.

"That's where my dad and I are going to build the treehouse," he said innocently while his dimple appeared once again.

"Cool!" I said enthusiastically, crossing my fingers we would get along.

From that day forward, my wish did come true, and we became fast friends. The rest of that summer we were inseparable as the treehouse came to life. I watched the painstaking process as each piece of lumber was placed, just so, up into the trees. Weeks later, Nate's treehouse emerged, almost like a tiny home up in the clouds because it seemed so high. There were some final touches that still needed to be completed.

One day when I was over Nate's house, his parents asked him what color they should paint the walls.

He turned to me and asked, "What do you think, Nick?"

Nick was Nate's nickname for me. I sometimes wondered in the back of my mind if he called me Nick so he didn't have to explain to his old friends that his new friend was actually a girl.

"Yellow, like a sunflower, they always make me smile," I replied.

Nate seemed to have no opinion and agreed almost immediately.

At the beginning of school that year, I showed Nate around the halls of the elementary school and after school, we would spend hours in the completed tree house, just being kids, with a "No Electronics Rule," while up in the clouds.

At the same time, our parents became friends, taking turns hosting drinks on the deck at night. When Nate's parents found out they were expecting a "surprise," a baby daughter, my mom supported Nate's mother, who was overwhelmed at the thought of having a child after forty.

The two women became best friends, just like Nate and I. They had a bond that couldn't be broken.

Nate was the first person who ever heard me play my guitar other than my parents. I was hesitant and didn't think I had much talent, but Nate told me to sing louder not softer, and encouraged me to write my own songs. When I said I didn't know how to coordinate a melody with lyrics, he didn't buy it.

"I dare you, Nick," he declared with a mischievous grin, ear-to-ear.

The bet was on and the terms were set.

If I wrote a song, he'd have to eat eggs, and if I didn't, I'd have to eat Brussels sprouts. Each item was on our own list of, "Things I Hate To Eat." After that day, I put pen to paper, creating my first ever lyric book, which sits on my bookshelf to this day in my bedroom.

I still remember Nate's face when he had to eat eggs over-easy, still slightly runny. I thought he was going to throw up as the yolk dripped back onto his plate as he took a bite. I knew it was slightly cruel, but priceless to watch.

During a time that could've been lonely and unbearable, especially during the first years of middle school, we were a lifeline for one another. I was the shy girl who didn't like any attention my way, and he was the meek boy, who feared his louder peers, but we knew at least one person had our back.

After six years of friendship, we were truly connected, best friends forever until... the summer before I was to become a freshman, and Nate was to become a sophomore in high school.

I noticed the gradual change between us, physically and emotionally. Nate was all of a sudden towering over me, over six feet tall, his voice sounded like a full-grown man, and he was no longer thin as a rail. He walked around with more confidence and held his head higher.

I, on the other hand, still hadn't quite filled out, even though I wished every night I'd grow out of my sports bra and into something a little more mature. Even still, there were slight changes in my appearance. My hair had grown longer and thicker, my body had started to take shape, and I noticed some boys at school were looking at me differently, for a second that is.

While other girls were experimenting with makeup, I was too busy playing my guitar.

I guess I was just, "the girl next door," like Walt said when he first discovered me.

Nate and I still spent time at the tree house, but his mom felt like he needed some more activity and signed him up for a football camp at the beginning of that summer. He'd come home sweaty and exhausted, but tried to make time for me, even though he was starting to make some interesting new friends. He started hanging out with football players and cheerleaders. They were never interested in spending time with him before they saw him throw a long ball down the field, with a perfect spiral and all. The newly, discovered skill shocked everyone who knew him.

The last night before my big, first day of high school, we decided to stay up in the tree house real late. We had spent all afternoon hanging Christmas lights inside as we laid out extension cords to connect to his house. I grabbed blankets, the late August nights were colder with the sun going down sooner, a sign that summer was coming to an end. After all of our efforts, Nate counted to three before revealing our newly-lit sanctuary.

The lights glistened off the yellow walls which made the tree house look so serene and beautiful.

As Nate took a seat between some throw pillows scattered on the floor, he smiled, dimple and all. His large, brown eyes sparkled in the light. Nate was no longer that little, frail boy. His body was toned and much stronger than ever before. I noticed the gradual changes, but he had literally grown up in front of my eyes, and I panicked. Were the things we had in common slowly fading?

I must've had a look on my face like someone had just died at that moment.

"What's wrong?" he said.

I glanced over at him, trying to make sense of all my new-found insecurities.

As I stared at him, he asked me again.

"What's wrong?" even more worried.

"This year...are things going to change, Nate?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're popular now. I'm just this little freshman. Will you still want to hang out?"

So many emotions flooded my brain, surprising even me.

"Yeah, of course," he reassured.

"But high school is different..."

"High school is just another school. Same like when you were in elementary and I was in middle school. Did things change when you moved up to middle school?" he asked.

"Well, no," I shook my head.

"So then stop being so weird" he nervously laughed.

"Weird?" I questioned as his laugh disarmed my alarm bells that were going off in my head.

At that moment, we both looked at one another, and we were back to being simply Nate and Nick, banter and all.

"YOU'RE GOING TO GET IT," I said loudly, reaching for a throw pillow at the same time he did.

We started to playfully hit one another, an epic pillow fight ensued. I thought the battle was pretty fair until Nate grabbed my pillow in mid-swing, expecting to steal the thing. Instead, I didn't let go, which led both of us off balance. As I fell backwards onto the floor, he fell on top of me, both of us still holding onto the pillow.

We laughed until we had stomach cramps.

As I lay there catching my breath, I confirmed Nate was indeed much heavier as his full weight was on top of me.

An awkward silence developed, and then his face and entire body became serious, really serious.

"Things won't change, I promise Nicky," he said softly.

With those important words, he retreated back to where he was sitting before the "fight."

I slowly sat up and saw he had his legs bent with his arms on his knees. He was leaned over, staring at the floor in between his feet.

I didn't know what to do.

"Nicky? You never call me, Nicky."

He glanced up from the floor, "Well, you definitely don't look like a Nick anymore" he said, acting like he was just joking around until he looked at me, like he had never looked at me before.

Confusion infiltrated my mind for a split second then he totally changed the subject.

"Do you remember when I carved that?" he said, leaning his back up against the wall again, pointing at the ceiling.

The initials...

N & N

...carved in the wood.

I moved closer to him, sat back, and stared at the letters which were illuminated by the lights.

"Your twelfth birthday. Your parents gave you a pocket knife and you wanted to carve something...anything," I said, slightly laughing at the memory. He was so indecisive about what to carve it took him an hour to decide.

"I knew what I wanted to write."

With his surprising confession, he playfully nudged his shoulder into mine and flashed me a reassuring smile my way.

Our friendship did mean something to him.

I gently placed my head on his shoulder, like I'd innocently done so many times before. He slowly wrapped his arm around me, lightly twirling my long hair around his finger like he normally would do.

I closed my eyes.

I had to take him at his word, things were never going to change, because he said so.