THE JENNER PLACE WAS THE MIDDLE OF THE FIVE RESIDENCES CONSTITUTING KIMBERTON AVENUE. A stucco, and red brick, two story dwelling, with a full basement, it was also the only house on the street lacking a fenced-in back yard.

A warm and vibrant home, its patriarch Donald Jenner, raised his family well. An architect by trade, his firm, known as Jenner and Jenner Associates, that he inherited upon his father's untimely demise from prostate cancer four years earlier, was currently hard at work designing a new upscale mall.

Still, he found plenty of time to spend with his three sons.

Anthony, who everybody called Tone, was the oldest. A bit of a rebel, he was into fast cars and freedom. Soon, he would graduate from high school and move away. College did not appear on his radar.

Mark was four years younger. Full of adolescent precociousness, he was experiencing puberty, and did not understand the awkward changes his body was undertaking.

Being a middle schooler, Mark was teased mercilessly by the other kids because of his voice changing. Sometimes his high pitches made him sound girly.

Then there was quiet, reserved, and studious Kyle, who threw a small paper route every morning before he went to school. Kyle also collected aluminum cans.

These he would smash with a brick on his family's front porch, and convert them into spending money at the local recycling center. He was trying to save enough money to purchase a Nintendo, or maybe a Ferrari.

If he had a sportscar he could be just like his older brother Tone. Who he secretly idolizes. But, a Nintendo would be a fun toy to occupy his time with, too. Kyle wasn't sure which one he wanted more.

Being ten-years-old Kyle did not think his parents would let him drive the Ferrari. Besides, he did not even know how to drive. And, they always told him he would have to wait until he grew a little older to learn that stunt.

So, the more Kyle thought about it the better the Nintendo sounded. Still, he did not dwell on his choices...too much.

It was not hard for other kids in the neighborhood to warm up to Kyle's pleasing personality. When they were seven years old Jonathan Dungston had been no exception.

In his typically reserved manner Kyle had stood watching Jonathan shooting hoops at the nearby playground, not saying a word.

Jonathan's bright orange basketball was repeatedly being trajected at the partially rusted iron. The net hung precariously off most of it.

Never having met the other boy before, Kyle stood at the edge of the cement court watching him dribbling the basketball.

Jonathan stood at the basket. He took aim. And, fired the ball. It barely grazed the front of the rim. Then, the ball bounced away from him in Kyle's direction.

Kyle bent over and picked the ball up. Before tossing it back to Jonathan he half-teasingly jaunted, "Kinda missed there. Didn't'cha?"

Jonathan caught the ball with two hands, and asked him, "Think you can do better?"

Kyle walked to where Jonathan now stood on the free throw line, and simply replied, "Yep."

"Then do it," Jonathan told him, with a smile on his face, passing Kyle the basketball.

Kyle faced the rim. He dribbled the basketball once. And, shot the ball. Swish!

He then ran after the ball. Picked it up. And, turning back to Jonathan said, "I'm Kyle."

"I know. Seen you around school. Miss Porter's class. I'm Jonathan," the other boy said.

Kyle wondered how a boy he did not know knew his name.

"I live in the blue house. The one on the corner," Jonathan told him.

Kyle looked to the house Jonathan was pointing at. He had seen him there lots of times before, but had never talked to him.

"Mine's the red one," Kyle told him.

With the playground situated right across the street, from where the boys lived, it was easy for Jonathan to see the house Kyle pointed at.

Not five minutes later, they had a pick-up game of basketball going full swing with other boys who had gathered around the court that afternoon.

After the game was over, night time darkness began settling in. Penelope Jenner, Kyle's mother, stood in her front yard calling him home.

Hearing his mother's voice, Kyle told his playmates, "Gotta go."

He took off in a full trot for home.

"Look both ways before you cross the street!" Jonathan called after him, reminding Kyle to be sure he watched for any cars that may be coming down the road he had to cross to get home.

Kyle glanced back over his shoulder, and yelled back at Jonathan, "I will!"

He came to the side of the street. He stopped in his tracks. He checked both directions. Then, he sprinted home.

"Come over some time!" Jonathan invited his new friend to do.

"I will!" Kyle called back to him.

Kyle raced through the front door of his home. His mother closed it behind him. She swallowed the last drop of pilsner from the can she held in her hand.

On the way to the den to watch television, before he took his nightly bath, Kyle noticed the rest of the six-pack, all empty, scattered around the top of the kitchen table.

Kyle's little grey tabby, Purr Ball, curled up beside him on the sofa.

With his father out of town on business, and his mother already drunk, like she always was when he was gone, Kyle knew what kind of night this was going to be.




@Copyrighted October 15, 2015 by Brett Matthew West
All Rights Reserved
No portion of this story, or its storyline, may be reproduced without the written consent of the copyright holder