idiot.neighbo r.kid

So growing up, there is a kid who lives two doors down from you. I'm 5, he's 4. That makes you instant friends, right? Stole ice cream sandwiches out of our garage freezer and left a trail of wrappers right back to his front door. The kid was not my friend. Broke several glass jars in our driveway in pathetic attempts to catch bees. Broke his arm jumping out of a tree after daring me to do it first. The kid was not my friend. Could not stand to lose any game whatsoever, and flipped monopoly boards, threw cards across the room, and scattered magnetic, vibrating football players to prevent the inevitable. The kid was not my friend. Proximity. That was it. Our entire kid relationship existed solely due to our parents choice of lot location. The kid was not my friend.

Now I'm 12. I've endured seven years of badgering that I couldn't beat him up(!) as he was vastly stronger than I was. Really? Really? The kid was not my friend. Taunted to the point of mental exhaustion, I would finally snap. Pinned to the ground, he'd admit he was wrong. Surprise! He's allowed verticality. He's disavowing his previous concessions. He's returning to vociferous, incessant tales of his physical superiority. Several times a week. For seven years. Horrible. The kid was not my friend.

One day he implores me to listen to his recently purchased cassette of Thriller. The first 30 seconds of Beat It. Again. Again. The kid was not my friend. I threatened to leave. He promised. Let the whole song play. 30 seconds passed. He's pressing rewind. I'm standing up. He's apologizing. But with a hardly-hidden grin on his grape-koolaid stained lips. The kid was not my friend.

His parents divorced about that time. He moved several streets away. We never spoke again. The kid was not my friend.