9. Will and Me (cont.)

We stood in front of one another’s houses, some distance back from the door, and call. “Betty!” “Phyllis!” “Judy!” We never went up and knocked. If we knocked on the door, we might have to speak to a grown-up.

In the winter we took turns on the sled, sliding down the big hill behind the mill superintendent’s house. It was a double hill, one hill, then a slight leveling out, then a steep drop again. My brother built a chute with high, sloping sides that twisted and turned the whole way down. When it was all built, he carried buckets of water and iced it down. After it was solidly frozen again, we slid down the chute on pieces of cardboard, whizzing up the curved sides like bobsled racers.

Will and I had skis, too. They were heavy, wooden, with a single leather strap to slip a foot through. We didn’t even have ski poles at first, but later we acquired a single pair of bamboo poles that we traded back and forth. We bent our knees and pushed off. Will was better at skiing than I. Will was better at most things than I was...unless those things involve words and imagination. But skiing required neither words nor imagination, and he whooshed down the hill ahead of me.

Will built snow forts and packed piles of snow balls. I liked throwing snow balls, but hated being hit, so I was no fun at all in a good war. He built an igloo, forming squares of packed snow and stacking them up, curving toward the center.