Little Dan and Tiny Ivan's farewell
Six-year-old Dan walked right down the middle of the uneven street. With the confidence of a super model, the swagger of a rapper and the bad-boy grimace of an old Western vaquero, he approached tiny Ivan, who was just chillin' sitting on a half burnt wood bench, playing with a water-filled pink balloon.
Tiny Ivan stood up and met little Dan right in the thick of the road, in front of nana's house.
- Well, Ivan, I'm leaving — he said with his fifty-nine year old man's voice and his ice blue eyes — aren't you going to give me a hug?
Seven-year-old Ivan stood there, hands down his pockets, shoulders up his ears, not really knowing what was going on with his summer holiday frenemy.
Little Dan grabbed Ivan by the neck and slapped him a hug so tight it threw tiny Ivan off his spot.
- I'm leaving, and I'm taking my bike with me. Mum's village has streets covered in potholes, so I'm probably gonna kill myself cos I like to ride fast, you know. I guess I will see you soon. Goodbye.
- Goodbye — muttered tiny Ivan.
As little Dan's dad drove him off, tiny Ivan slowly trudged back to his bench. He sat his butt and shoulders back down and watched his pal disappear down the street.
- Are you OK Ivan? Are you sad?-I asked, concerned.
- No — he replied — can we go for a bike ride now?
~ G. A.