In The Shade

His name was Oscar Rivera. I knew him since kindergarten and this is the fifth grade. Nothing was ever said. One day on his side of the street, hugging Our Lady of Mercy's brick wall. And the next day, on my side of the street, following Carpenter Ave. four blocks, to and from school. Everyday for three months he walked behind me, sometimes having whispered conversations with himself, or kicking the dead leaves.

Once, he stopped to tie his laces and my shadow suddenly shrank, the extra arms disappeared, flagging me to stop. I watched him, bent over and I brazenly touched his shadow's hair with my shadowed fingertips. Then turning away, I ran to my building, and rested within the entrance. It's chill, tiled, interior cooling my flaming face. Every day after, I secretly delighted in knowing he walked behind me, our shadows touching, even darker where they met, cool and flimsy and insubstantial.