Seven-year-olds Billy Bowen and Timmy Wilson were not only cousins, but they were also long time best friends, at least as far back that they could remember. They even lived next door to each other.

Same age but the similarities ended there. Billy was large for his age.

Timmy was what some might call the runt of the litter had he been born in a litter. Billy had blondish hair worn in a crewcut, freckles and a pale complexion.

Timmy had jet black wavey hair, big brown eyes and an almost Indian looking darker skin color. Billy was a hulk, big boned and a regular bruiser.

Timmy was skinny as a rail, wiry and fast of foot. When excited, Billy had a noticeable stutter.

Timmy was a motor mouth, capable of talking your ears off. Nobody ever said best friends must be spitting images of one another.

Billy was the youngest having an older brother and sister. Timmy was an only child who always wanted a little brother.

Billy filled the position nicely, younger by four months even if he was a behemoth by comparison. It didn’t much matter to Timmy even if he had never shared his dream with Billy.

The two were nearly inseparable, some joking they were joined at the hips. Timmy could be a little troublemaker by nature, an instigator and provocateur.

Billy seemed to always be around to clean up his messes or fend off the one that Timmy had angered. Peers seemed to think Timmy intentionally pushed other’s buttons just to test Billy’s loyalty.

Those same peers never pushed Billy though, fearing how far he might go to protect Timmy. Sid Bonds was the exception, a bully among bullies.

He drew complete satisfaction from picking on anyone, especially Timmy, just to ruffle Billy’s feathers and upset the duo’s applecart. Billy always took the bait and Sid always laughed off the challenge and walked away.

It was merely cat and mouse tactics. Today was not a day for cat and mouse games.

It was Saturday, a non-bully day away from the school yard. Billy and Timmy were doing what they usually did on Saturdays, anything that their young imaginations could drum up.

Following the leader was a favorite of Timmy’s, especially if he was doing the leading. He looked over his shoulder and Billy was still following, mimicking his moves.

Over this, under that, through the woods and to grandma’s house we go, sang Timmy, making up the words to match his route. Billy was no quitter.

Timmy, tiring of the game, changed the rules, calling it hide and seek rime. He was the hider.

Billy must close his eyes and count to one hundred. Billy counted to twenty-five instead, a rule changer as well.

Such was life in March of 1963. .