The key players are two boys, joined at the hip and at the heart and seeming to share one brain, one spirit. Childhood best friends who grow together into manhood, so much more usual a pattern for girls than boys, but then we were so often the exception. The boy sopranos whose voices didn’t change until well into high school. The jock and the egghead who got along as if that’s how it supposed be. Yin and yang in a world of cliques and clubs. There were other friends, a few even that we didn’t share, but none that lasted. But they all retreat into memory and what stands out as I try to frame this first chapter of my story is a simple series of moments: two boys, one dark-haired, one blond, sitting in a tree eating apples, spitting out sand on a beach, running through suburban yards, chasing cars, planning imaginary airline itineraries to lands with magical names that were only real because we could find them on maps. Two boys, innocent of the past, ignorant of the future, and oblivious to how both would change them. Knowing only one thing: together, now, life was sweet.