The walk to school was quiet. I wanted to preserve the last memories of summer before work began, I think quietness was just Finn's natural state of being. It wasn’t awkward or anything, silence was just okay. We passed a little huddle of first-graders on their way to the elementary school down the street. I nudged Finn.
‘Hey, do you remember when we were in first grade? And Bernie Matthews wet his pants on the first day?’
Finn laughed. ‘How could I forget? I was the one who found him, all curled up in the sandbox, not wanting to move in case anybody saw the wet patch underneath his shorts. Poor kid, we teased him for weeks.’ He pointed to the group of first-graders. ‘Which one do you think is the most likely to wet themselves this year?’
‘Oh, the girl with the curly hair, definitely. I can almost /smell/ the pee coming off her already.’
The first graders noticed us looking at them and started to scatter. It didn’t matter, Finn and I were on a roll. By the time we got to the school gates we’d figured out the most likely to become a felon (the fat kid with the ginger hair, on the grounds that he’d get bullied so bad that he’d commit a mass shooting), the one who was going to be on ‘Teen Mom’ (same girl that was going to pee herself, as she’d be so emotionally scarred by first grade that she’d seek sex as validation. Obviously when she was a bit older. We weren’t that cruel.), and the one who was going to become a bestselling novelist. This final kid was quietly on the edge of things, sucking his sweater sleeves. He seemed to notice things. In truth, he reminded me of a six-year-old Finn. Funny how the same types of people seem to repeat themselves every couple of years. I wonder whether this particular Finn had a Cal to go with him. I guess we’ll never know.