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Riding on the Red Line into Boston had been one of Tom Jinkowski's fondest childhood memories. He would've been hard pressed to think of anything as easy as dropping a token, or two, into the slot, passing through the turn-styles and finding a seat. Tom enjoyed the stress free ride; the pressure of driving temporarily abated, and would sometimes find himself dangerously close to sleep and the possibility of missing his stop.
As a teenager, Tom would ride the T with his friends, a group of boisterous young men, swearing that, as soon as he got his license, his days of riding on the train were over. But, as sixteen came and went, Tom still found himself on the subway, license in his wallet, and a newspaper on his lap. For Tom, the enjoyment of relaxing on the train, reading a newspaper, or simply watching the trees rush by, the light pouring through small cracks left by sparse leaves, had to be one of life's simple and understated pleasures.
On this particular day, Tom took absolutely no pleasure in the ride. It wasn't the fault of the train, passengers or operators, as much as it was the purpose of the trip. Tom was riding on the subway, headed to Park Street, on a trip to Callahan's Funeral Home to say goodbye to his best friend, Samantha Chesney.
Tom and Samantha had met twenty-four years ago, in the fall of 1977, when each had recently celebrated their fifth birthday. Tom was shooting hoops with his father when a moving truck lumbered down the street and pulled into the vacant driveway of the home across the street. Tom's father, a tall and extremely lanky firefighter in Boston, surveyed the truck and the station wagon that followed closely behind.
"Must be the new neighbors", Tom's father said to his son, who could not be bothered with details of anything other than shooting hoops.
The moving truck's engine died as an immensely obese black man in his late forties hopped out of the front cab and proceeded to the back of the truck.
The back seat driver's side door opened and a young girl with pigtails jumped out. She ran to the house, her pigtails bouncing up and down, and plopped herself on the plush front lawn, a common fixture of the neighborhood homes.
Tom's father began to walk towards the end of his driveway, stopping only to collect his son, and together they crossed the street to greet their new neighbors. By this time, the other occupants of the station wagon, a young couple, had emerged from the car and were stretching away their aches. Tom's father gave a wave and the young couple began to walk towards the approaching strangers. The adults met and talked as the girl with the pigtails noticed the commotion and approached, her curiosity having gotten the best of her.
Tom noticed the girl with the pigtails as she clung behind her father's leg, stealing peeks at the boy standing behind his father. She was about the same height as Tom, three or four inches shorter than four feet, and she had the compulsion to tug on her pigtails with both hands. She had blue eyes that seemed to match perfectly with her blond hair, tiny yellow dress and her fair skin.
The girl's parents introduced her as Samantha, and Tom's father introduced his boy. The children were forgotten shortly after, as usually happens when adults get to chitchatting.
Samantha resumed stealing peeks at Tom. She thought he was "yucky," mostly because he was a boy, but as the years passed, she would grow to see how handsome Tom was with his brown hair and green eyes. As she finally decided to stop stealing peeks, and attempt a full stare, the adults finished the meeting and returned to their respective sides of the street.
Three hours later, Tom sat on his front steps, watching his new neighbors unload their station wagon and laboriously carry their possession inside their new home. The front door squeaked behind Tom as his father walked onto the front steps and handed Tom a pair of Popsicles.
After five minutes of prodding and ushering, Tom walked across the street with the pops in his hand and a nervous look on his face. He arrived at the edge of the driveway as the new neighbors front door opened and Samantha stepped out. She had changed out of her dress, and into a faded pair of jeans and a fresh, white shirt. She approached Tom and began to tug on her pigtails.
Ton held out one of the pops, the grape one he hadn't wanted as much as the cherry, for Samantha. She looked at the pop suspiciously and said, 'What's that?"
Tom removed the wrapper and said, "It's a pop. My Dad said I should give you one."
Samantha looked at the pop and asked, "Do you have a red one?"
Tom, the red pop in his hand by his side, reluctantly gave it over. Samantha took the pop, greedily ripping open the wrapper, and said, "Red is my
favorite."
Tom, joylessly licking the purple pop, watched her enviously and said, "Yeah, mine too."
Seeing that Tom had wanted to keep the pop, Samantha put it back in the wrapper and walked over the hood of the station wagon. Placing the pop on the edge of the hood, Samantha brought her hand down in a quick swipe, separating the pop into two separate halves. She walked back to Tom and offered him the other half.
With that, a friendship was born.
As the years passed, the friendship blossomed between Samantha and Tom. I t began slowly at first, the occasional after school play sessions, but the friendship was fortified by the long months of summer vacation. During those summer months, Samantha and Tom resembled each other's shadows. Samantha became a permanent fixture, loud and supportive, at Tom's little league's games. She sat in the bleachers nightly, sometimes with Tom's parents, other times alone, cheering as her friend played baseball on those warm summer nights.
Never a boy to be outdone, Tom accompanied Samantha to gymnastics, and during her high school years, to cheerleading competitions. Although the teasing of Tom's friends proved incessant at times, Tom continued to go to these events and support his friend.
By the time high school began, both Tom's and Samantha's parents had begun there attempts to unite the friends into something more. It seemed a complete mystery to Tom's father why his son hadn't desired to date Samantha. As she had grown, her beauty had only been outdone by her charm. Samantha's parents found Tom to be a handsome and sweet young man, also prodding Samantha with requests that she initiate a relationship. But, to the dismay of both sets of parents, all that remained was a friendship.
In 1990, the friendship was altered when Tom and Samantha went to college. Samantha, by this point a beautiful eighteen-year-old woman, had gone to Syracuse in New York to study Forensic Science, while Tom, handsome and mature at eighteen, had stayed local, opting for a baseball scholarship at Bridgewater State College.
As the four years of college passed, Tom was amazed that their friendship survived so well. What had been formed through thirteen years of continuous contact only seemed stronger as their times together were reduced to winter and summer breaks. Samantha was also amazed at a new development, a development that she was as equally unprepared as surprised.
During the Christmas break of their sophomore year, Samantha remembered feeling more excitement than usual at the prospect of seeing Tom. That year had been a busy one for both Tom and Samantha, and as a result, their weekly ritual of speaking on the phone had been reduced to a once a month occurrence. By the time Christmas break arrived, Samantha was finding it very difficult to control her feelings of jubilation for the time when she would see her friend. She finally understood, now that she had a chance to miss him, how much Tom meant to her.
©2003 StoriesByEmail.com
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