Rags (bp coyle)

She came one summer to stay with her maiden aunt who lived next door to me. I was ten, she was a few months younger. She was from somewhere up north and had a very thick accent. My dog’s name was Rex, she pronounced it ‘Rags’.

Her name was Fran.

I was in the house alone, eating cereal in the kitchen when I heard her calling out. She asked if she could come into my garden to play with Rex. She asked what his name was.

That’s how I met her.

I guess we became friends. We spent almost every day together until the holiday was over and she had to go home. Mostly we built ever more complicated obstacle courses for Rex to run through and around. I don’t recall what we talked about, school perhaps, movies, music. The usual.

I missed her when she went, I was not really much of a mixer at that stage, I’d never really been so close to anyone before.

She returned the following year, and the one after that. Then her aunt moved away and I never heard from her again.

I can still picture her.

I wonder if she remembers.