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I was quite a sickly child, subject to more fits of coughing and fevers than any other child I have ever come across. My parents worried terribly over me as I was their only child and despite her overall physical health my mother was in no condition to have another. For many years we would be visited by a doctor once every two weeks and he would examine me for any signs of illness, even if I had been in entirely good health since his last visit.During the winter months I was not allowed outside unless absolutely necessary, lest the cold should chill me to my very core and bring about in me some terrible new condition. The doctor suggested to my parents that they take me to a warmer, sunnier country during those months so that my health may improve, but it was not to be. Although we were well off financially my father could not leave his work, and my mother abhorred the idea of us being away from him for many weeks at a time. We had no relatives to speak of who would care for me, and even so the idea of being away from my parents was as frightening to them as it was me. So home I stayed, confined to the house.Much of my time was spent within my father’s greenhouse among his peach trees and the other plants he and my mother grew. The air was always heavy and wet and smelled of soil. I would bring with me a toy or game to play, and sometimes my mother would sit me on her lap there and tell me stories.I will not say I was a lonely child, as for many years I never felt as such. I had no siblings and none of the families near to us had children my age to speak of. There was the odd girl or boy who would visit along with their parents during the times my mother and father had company, but never was this often enough to form lasting friendships. My first real friend came to me in the winter when I was nearly seven years old. A new family had moved into the house nearest ours and my mother, the friendly and personable woman she was, wasted no time in making friends.’.Within a week the new woman was coming over for tea. In two weeks, she had brought her son along.I noticed his eyes first. A striking, piercing blue that I had never and have never since seen on another person. They scared me; even at that age I didn’t think eyes could be so blue. He was taller than me, with sharper features and longer limbs than I yet possessed, and this was something I later found would not change with age. His hair was dark black and curly. Mine was the same golden color as my mother’s, and almost equally as straight. This boy’s entire being seemed to be the exact contrast of my own, and I felt a little afraid of him for that.“I’m Arthur,” be said cheerfully, then quickly adding, “But nobody calls me that because it’s my dad’s name. Call me AJ! My Mum and sister call me Archie, but I like AJ better.”“Why do you and your dad have the same name?” I asked. “Doesn’t that make everything very confusing?”“It’s my grandfather’s name, too,” he explained. “And I think my great-grandfather’s. My family really likes it.”“Oh.” I felt that this did not at all answer my question.“What’s your name?”“Harry.”“How old are you?”“I’m nearly seven.”“So you’re six.” He grinned, wide, bright, and excitable. “I’m nine. Let’s go play in the snow!”During the previous night there had heavy storm with fierce, howling winds fit for a horror novel, but the only evidence come morning was the heavy layer of perfectly white snow blanketing everything as far as the eye could see. Or at least as far as the eye could see from the tower of our house.I shook my head. “I’m not allowed outside.”AJ raised his dark eyebrows in surprise. “Ever?!”“N-no! Just in the winter. The cold will make me sick.” Then, slightly ashamed, I added, “I get sick a lot…”To my complete relief, AJ only nodded and made no further inquiries. The daughter of my mother’s friend who would sometimes visit always asked me questions about being sick. I hated this, and by extension hated her. Talking about being sick very often made me feel more sickWithout another moment of hesitation AJ’s hand reached out and took mine. I noted immediately how already his hand was squarer than mine, his fingers longer and thinner. Both hands held were those of children, but of very different children who would grow up to be very different men but whose lives were now interwoven like fingers. I realized then how I liked to hold hands with someone closer to my own size for once and not to be gripped and guided protectively by a parent. My small, childish mind did not understand these things at the time, of course. I simply knew that I very much enjoyed holding AJ’s hand.“That’s alright!” he smiled. “We’ll play inside then! Have you got toy soldiers?”I did. My father had gotten me an entire army of them for the recent Christmas. Still holding hands we raced up the stairs to my nursery and made more noise and a bigger mess than I ever could have done on my own, and I think that was what made it so fun. Wooden blocks were used as houses and canons and projectiles and a dozen other things as we threw them around the room, knocking over the toy soldiers and all matter of other things in the process. I’m rather sure one sailed dangerously towards the window at some point, only to be caught by the thick fabric of my curtains and deposited safely onto the floor.“You’ll come again?” I asked eagerly as AJ’s mother prepared the to of them to leave while her husband said something boring to my father, who replied with something equally as dull. (I loved my father very much, but it was my observation that almost all adults were dull when around other adults.)“Yeah!” he grinned. “I want to try playing outside here when all the snow melts!”He and his family left then, before I could say that I hoped AJ would visit again before the snow melted.“I’m sure he will,” my mother soothed when I expressed this worry to her.“But what if he doesn’t?”Don’t worry, darling,” she soothed, reaching to stroke my hair in the way she did. “I’m sure you’ll see AJ again very, very soon. Much before the snow melts.”I did not know how she was so sure, for I still felt very anxious about the whole thing. But I complained no longer for fear of irritating or upsetting her. My mother, however, being the woman and caring soul she was, could still feel my anxiety, and leaned down to kiss the top of my head. The next day, just as we were finishing breakfast, there was knock at the door. When answered, AJ rushed in so quickly I had almost no time to understand that it was him.“Let’s play hide and seek!” he said, tugging me along in an already familiar fashion.