People, Glass Houses, Stones

by Victor Kreuiter

About the Author: Victor Kreuiter lives, reads and writes in the Midwest.

Excerpt

Me and Ray were always talking when we were kids. We’d get a trade when we grew up, plumbing, electric, something like that. We’d get into some business together, success guaranteed, watch each other’s back. That’s when we were kids, a long time ago.

I did okay in school, better than Ray, that’s for sure, but Ray had the touch. Even as a kid he could fix things. Anything. He could look at something and figure it out. A lock, a lawn mower, a bicycle, he’d jump right in, no fear. Tools? He’d figure them out too. We’d grow up and be a team. Partners forever.

Before I knew Ray—I met Ray in the fifth grade—before him I played a lot with the Abrams twins. One was Paul and the other was Robert. You couldn’t tell ’em apart. Everybody in the neighborhood called ’em Half and Half, and both of them would answer to that, didn’t matter which one it was. I’m bringing that up because I didn’t know when I was a kid, or even when I got a little older, but Half and Half and me would be the team.

It was supposed to be me and Ray, but that didn’t work out.

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