“You bloody Pirate! I’ll have your head!” Capt. Aaron Morlin took hold of the wheel and threw it sow-sow east so the wind would knock that thief off the ropes.

Drake the Devil, as his crew knew him, held a firm grip and laughed, “You’ll have to do better than that you crusty old seaman!”

Capt. Morlin snarled, “Get down here and fight like a real man! Or can you, being the lowlife that you are – you’d rather stab me as I turn away!”

“You callin’ me a back-stabber? Fine, let’s fight face to face!” The Devil slid down the rope ladder like a serpent and drew his blade with enough anger as a viper.

The schooner shifted as Capt. Morlin let go the wheel. Their swords clanged, signaling a duel and they stood, waiting for the other to make a move. The battle began.

Devil Drake was a vicious fighter, always the aggressor pushing Morlin to defense. Morlin knew quite well he was outmatched. But with what little pride he was allowed, the Captain led the Devil to the edge. Drake plunged and Morlin ducked but the Devil was not tricked so easily. He laughed, gripped Morlin by the collar and threw him to the sea.

Morlin panicked, with his wounds he could attract sharks. Aaron hit the ground with almost enough force to break his arm.

“Dammit Drake! You can’t go throwing people out of trees!”

“Oh come on, it’s only a few feet.”

“A few feet too many, that really hurt!” Aaron cradled his throbbing leg.

“Did you break anything?” Drake asked, almost out of concern.

“No.”

“Then stop being a baby.” He leaped from the limb and landed on his feet like a cat. Extending a hand to Aaron he laughed, “You really suck at sword fighting.”

“It’s not fair,” Aaron complained, “I’m the one who likes ship history, who knows all the terminology, and you still beat me as the grungy pirate.”

“While you get to role play a dull captain.” Drake adds.

“Hey, English ship captains are not dull. What about Horatio Nelson? You thought those stories I told you about him were cool.”

“At the time.”

“I don’t get you,” Aaron folded his arms angrily.

“Come on, nerd, let’s go blow things up.”

Aaron gathered himself and followed Drake out of the woods. This was a routine day in their life of play. When they weren’t in school, the two boys role-played in the woods, or put firecrackers in soda cans.

They heard a small voice behind them, “Drake, Aaron…can I come too?”

Picksy, Drake’s six year old sister appeared behind them. Picksy had been named when Drake’s mom was going through her fairy phase, but everyone liked it. At this age it was cute, and when Picksy turned 20, it would still be cute. But when she entered the awkward age of thirteen, like her older brother, the name would most certainly get her enemies.

Drake sighed, “Alright then, but we’re blowing up cans and I don’t want you crying like you did last time.”

She scrunched her face to look fierce, instead it looked as though she’d eaten something sour, “I won’t! I can blow up cans too!”

“Oh no you can’t,” Drake teased, “You’re too little. But you can cry about it, or you can watch.”

She whimpered and Drake led the way to their second hang out – the yellow fields behind an abandoned tool shed.

This was a period in their lives where the three were close. But within three short years, everything changed.