When we took lifesaving, we learned the cross-chest carry, the one where you grab the swimmer in distress around his chest and scissor-kick to shore. Our instructor was a college girl and had Ray Merrick try it on her, but he messed up with the scissors, probably because was gaga about holding her boobs, pretty nice ones, at least compared to mine. When they switched roles so she could show us the right way, he was like a ship with a mast.

For some time afterward, some referred to him behind his back as “Raised,” but then more or less forgot about him as our stories became more about imagined football players in the back seat.

But I, myself, not even then referred to Ray as anything but his real name because he was my best friend. We’d do things together, even if other kids thought I was a tomboy or he was a sissy. We’d bike the Outcrop — only ascendible by sneaking past a bees nest — and afterward go to Hello Ice Cream and split a sundae. Or we might look at my dolls. We won the Twelve-and-Under Doubles tennis championship. We’d even peed together out in the woods, but we quit doing it.

We had this game, Secret Tickle, where you tickle the other, nobody else knowing, and if that person can keep it a secret, too, they get to attack you back. If you make a peep, you lose.

Eating dinner at my place — our mom’s pretty much used to zeta or two — him across from me, he’d slipped off his shoe to get my ankle, but I played it cool and when I counterattacked, got inside his knee while he told Mom it was good macaroni.

He played it cool, too, but bumped my mom’s foot by mistake, at which she looked down and said he was just like his dad. That his dad had been her childhood buddy was maybe not that surprising for a town where many move to, or move out of. Maybe that’s why Ray and I ended up best friends, ourselves, my mom and his dad having been the same.

Even for best friends, though, we saw a lot of each other, as his mom commuted to Mason as an ER nurse and worked long shifts, but just a few days per week. If she was gone, we’d sometimes have Ray and his dad over for dinner. When Dad was off to his Guard weekend, though, it was just us two girls and those two guys.

When Ray and I played Doctor. “I need to fix your ouches,” he’d tell me, dabbing my belly buttons with cold cream, and from there. “Don’t wiggle, or you’ll make it worse.” checking me for lower injuries. That was the first time I climaxed, but didn’t know that’s what it was.

When I was the nurse, I’d make him shut his eyes. “I’ll have to put you to sleep for your operation,” undoing his belt. “Just keep your eyes shut,” aiming the oatmeal-box X-ray machine— “Ray’s X-ray” which we thought clever — at his undies. “Now I’ll need to measure you for your physical,” him grimacing as I lay my ruler on the fabric.

For years, we’d bonked each other with birthday balloons and other non-lethal weapons, but when I was fourteen, us roughhousing over whether you collect Monopoly rent if you’re still in Jail — you don’t — he kissed me. He seemed as surprised as was I and we got right back to buying properties and I bankrupted him because I owned Park Place.

It wasn’t until we were older that we realized more about the friendship between my mom and his dad. It was a Saturday when Dad was guarding and Ray’s mom was ER-ing, the two of us coming back from playing tennis and hearing the bed squeaking from my folks’ room. Not that surprising, though, as they’d known each other forever. Obviously the other two shouldn’t find out, but we were good with secrets.