“Make your wish then we have to get back.”

“I know.”

“Just be quick, Tom. You’ll get me in trouble again.”

I hear them walking. Their bare feet crunch on the gravel path that veers towards the barn. The moment they turn towards me their small feet fall on soft summer grass. Quiet but not silent. The whish whish of their hurried steps as they cut through the overgrown lawn, closer and closer toward my stones.

Tom leans over the edge first, my roof shading him from the afternoon sun. His face so high above is red with the heat, sweat beading on his brow, freckled and burnt from his days playing in the yard.

“Hello!”

Hello hello

“Hi!”

Hi hi

“Tom, just make your wish already!”

Ready ready

The sister leans over the side opposite Tom, a scowl cut into her face. Claire always looks at me that way. Her dark brown hair has the same color and curl as Tom’s, but where his is an errant mop, hers has been tamed into two frizzy braids.

“Hmm,” Tom hums deep in his throat. It reminds me of thrumming bee wings from when a hive was made in my roof last summer. The father removed it. I miss them.

Tom takes his time despite his sister, his eyes narrowing in thought.

Claire steps away so I only see Tom. I prefer it this way. His curiosity all mine. His thoughts dedicated to what he wants to say to me. Me alone.

“I wish…”

Wish wish

“For Luke to sleepover this weekend!”

End end

“Luke’s family is out of town, idiot,” Claire says. Her voice is faint. She’s probably under the maple tree, shaded by the boughs.

Tom frowns. His little fingers pick at my mortar. He’s always chipping away at it. When he dislodges a chunk, he flicks it down down down.

It tickles my walls once, twice, before I swallow it.

Tom leans over further.

“Don’t do that, Tom!” Claire shouts. “You know how mad Mom gets.”

 “But it feels so cool,” he mumbles before moving back the barest amount. “I’m making a new wish because my old one shouldn’t count.”

Claire grumbles.

“I wish to have another friend!”

Friend friend

The squeal of hinges makes Tom look away from me.

“Kids!” It’s the mother. “Hurry up and set the table!”

A sharp bang of a door.

Claire pulls on Tom’s arm, but he holds tight to my rocks.

“One more wish!”

Wish wish

She groans, yanking at his thin wrist. “Tom, you need to come in!”

Come in come in

My voice makes him smile.

When Tom doesn’t move, Claire’s braids snap away. Feet once again meet gravel. Crunch crunch crunch crunch. Her run a staccato.

But Tom lingers, leaning further over, eyes wide.

“Echo!”

Echo echo

“Tom!”

Tom Tom

His grin widens when I say his name.

“Will you be my friend?”

Yes.

Tom scrambles back from me, scraping several loose pieces of mortar into my depths. Sharp pings bite against my walls.

He’s gone only a moment before glassy eyes peer over once more. Tom clutches my rocks, white knuckles matching his pale face.

“Is someone down there?” he whispers.

Tom’s friend.

His lips twitch. He pulls himself a little closer.

“What’s your name?”

Tom’s friend.

His laugh bounces through me, and I add my own.

“Your name can’t be Tom’s Friend.” His face scrunches. “How about Howell?”

Howell Howell

His giggles feel like bubbles. He pushes himself up so I can see his face and torso.

“Let’s play a game, Howell.”

“Tom!” Claire’s yell makes him flinch. “Mom says you’re in huge trouble!” I don’t hear her feet, so she’s stayed inside. And Tom stays with me.

He pulls himself up onto my ledge of rocks and sits in the shade of my roof completely now. Tom hangs his legs over the side and leans his arms against the beam of wood where my rope is tied.

“One quick game, Howell, then I have to go to dinner,” he says, swinging his feet and kicking my rope which hangs all the way down to me. There used to be a bucket, but I swallowed it.  

“Let’s play One Word Story because Claire never wants to.” Already bored with the rope, Tom scratches at the wood. “I say one word, and you say another. Together we’ll make a story. Okay?”

At my silence, he nods. “I’ll start.” He hums in thought, mimicking bees again, before saying, “There...”

Once

“Was”

A

“Boy”

Who

“Wished”

For

“A”

Friend.

Tom is quiet.

He shakes his head. “Let’s try again. You first this time.”

There

“Was”

A

“Boy”

And

“He”

Fell

“Down”

A

My rocks give way under Tom.

Loose from summers of Tom’s picking, they pelt my walls.

Tom isn’t quick enough to grab the wood beam.

He claws at the rope. Rotten from rain, it only burns his palms before snapping.

He doesn’t cry out, but his mouth stretches wide.

Tears rip from eyes fixed on me.

When he hits my water, it is the sweetest of sounds. It echoes too short a time.

Then all is still.

I watch how his curls form a halo around his head, how his body floats so beautifully, and how his arms are held out, reaching for me.

I embrace him and ignore the scream that spills down from above. I refuse to echo it back.

My Tom. My Tom.