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Ilya Rozanov had a very vivid imagination. This he’d always known. His mother used to tease him about it; said it must have had something to do with being an only child. His father was less amused but chalked it up to having two parents with multiple post-doctorates. It was a fine line, he always said, whatever that meant. Ilya thought it was because they had him too late in their lives, and he didn’t have other children to grow up with. He had to learn how to entertain himself. Mother said she was happy they had him at all.
And he was a happy child! Loud but polite. Smiled easily. Laughed often. He hardly got sick so he stayed outdoors for long periods of time. Their yard was big and full of treasures, and corners and shrubbery to hide behind.
No one to seek him out, though -- and on the long and sunny days, that’s how he met Shane. Shane Hollander was older than Ilya by two years and taller by an inch. He lived in the smaller house across the brick fence that separated their properties. A study in contrast: he was gentle when Ilya was brash and forgiving when Ilya was competitive. Shane hardly retaliated except when Ilya teased him about his ears, or his cheeks, or his freckles. Shane didn't like the teasing, he told Ilya. Those were the things Shane’s grandma had loved the most about him, and he loved everything that had to do with his grandma.
Shane found Ilya’s house beautiful, and their garden equally fascinating. So much bigger than his own, although the respective sizes of their houses hardly mattered to Ilya. The Hollander house was small, made of solid brick and dark wood. The Rozanov Manor had big windows, large front doors, and had a fountain, a wraparound porch and two unnecessary chimneys that, from the distance, looked like dragons.
"It's to guard against the enemy soldiers!" Ilya loved to explain excitedly. "And drafts."
Ilya was full of facts, and was very convincing.
Shane loved to play with Ilya. They'd spend long periods of the day playing tag, or cops and robbers, or hide and seek. Then one day they built a treehouse on the Rozanov property, five feet off the ground (neither of them were particularly tall) with the floorspace big enough for exactly two footstools, but that didn’t matter. Between the two of them, they could imagine anything into a castle. It was always sunny when they played, that kind of perfect afternoon near the tail-end of summer that seemed too good to true.
But there were times when they were interrupted. Ilya’s mother would call him inside the house, into the study. Look at him with worried eyes. Have him sit on a chair and face a desk. He was never too tired after playtime, nor too hungry, nor too thirsty. He always wondered why he needed to take a break.
Ilya’s father would sometimes sit across from him on a desk. He would have his glasses on, and a pad in front of his face. He would look at him with a frown and ask questions like "Where do you go after playing with your friend?"
And Ilya would just say, "Here."
"And where is here?”
Ilya shrugged. His father was so odd sometimes. "Inside."
Sometimes his mother was there, and sometimes it was just his father. Sometimes his mother would have a strange expression on her face, like she was scared. But then Ilya would smile at her, what she called his big bunny smile that looked so much like his grandmother’s, and the scared expression would go away.
Sometimes when this happened, she would cry instead.
During these times Ilya would just shake his head and say sorry. And then his father would sigh, just shy of dismissive, and say, “I think that’s all the progress we have for today,” and he would be let out again into the garden.
He always found Shane in the garden, exactly where he left him: after the treehouse, their other favorite spot was a break in the brick fence between the two properties, and across it, a fallen log that doubled as a bench just wide enough to sit two children. Shane would be there waiting. He always looked so relieved so see Ilya.
"Stop that." Ilya would say, flicking Shane on the forehead. "I go inside for awhile and every time I come back out here, you look at me like you'll never see me again.”
Shane would scoff but then soften. “I can’t get rid of you that easy, huh?” And then the other boy would return the flick with a teasing cuff across the head. Ilya sighed but let him do it. Truly, he was a good friend. (Too good of a friend! Ilya would say, all huffy and indignant about it. During these times, Shane would say that whatever he lacked in height, he made up for being so darn sure of himself.)
"Say," he’d start, standing up and sticking a hand out for Shane to hold as they began to prepare their journey across the cobblestones and the overgrown shubbery that made up the sprawling Rozanov garden. "What'd you think about vanquising the evil eaglebees across the pond?"
And Shane would laugh about it and smile and take Ilya’s hand.
They vanquished the eaglebees (a bee’s nest) and fought some rhinoraptors (a crow) and teased the chimney-dragons when they were feeling particularly brave. Ilya would tell Shane stories and craft adventures, because that's what he was best at, and also it was his house so he knew it best, doofus. And in return Shane would tell him about his grandma, who raised him first and loved him so but died a year before he met Ilya. He would tell Ilya how his parents paid a bespectacled man in a funny white frock to listen to him talk about her grandma. And how mom and dad both had to leave their jobs in the city to be with Shane more, because the man in the funny white frock said his situation was “escalating.” (“What does that mean?” Ilya asked the first time he heard the word. Shane shrugged, because all he knew was that it brought his parents home, so Shane didn’t necessarily think it was a bad thing.) How Shane’s parents initially liked how he spent the day outside, because it was much better than when he would just sit, quiet and grieving, at home.
“So they don’t like that you spend so much time outside now?”
Shane would be quiet for a moment, trying to deny it, but Ilya knew better. “I think they think I spend too much in the garden, these days.”
“Because of me?”
“Sometimes they worry that I’ve…made. A friend.”
Everytime Shane would say things like this, Ilya knew the waterworks would start soon. Ilya hated the waterworks. So he would poke Shane in the ribs and tease him some more but always end up, inevitably with: "Well, they’re just going to have to deal with it. You have me, and I’m not going away that easy.”
And Ilya didn’t! He wouldn’t leave Shane like that. They had a handshake and even spit on it as a promise. They kept each other company while spending endless days in the large Rozanov garden. Their treehouse didn’t grow in height but it did grow in furnishings, courtesy of Shane. Some pillows and a set of towels and Shane’s favorite stuffed animal, which was, of course, a bear. Ilya never had anything to bring as decoration, but Shane didn’t mind.
Sometimes it would be Shane going away to what he called "school," and during this time Ilya would go off on what he called adventures.
Then one rainy day, an unusual one in their perpetually sunny side of town, Ilya convinced Shane to stay out in the treehouse overnight. “How can we know if the castle will protect us from wild animals and rebels and monsters if we don’t test it against a storm?” Ilya had said. And Shane wasn’t sure at first. “Won’t your mom and dad get mad? Or worried?”
Ilya had said, “They really only remember me when I go inside. Besides, I can protect you from anything, even if the castle can’t! That’s what I’m here for.”
Shane had been unsure, but Ilya was, as he’d mentioned, full of facts, and indeed, very convincing.
“I wish I could be just like you,” Shane had said. “You’re everything I wish I could be.”
And with that, Shane was convinced to spend the night in their castle. At around midnight the rain inevitably pelted through their poor excuse of a roof, soaking everything and everyone inside. Still, they persevered because they were stubborn, and Ilya told the story of how the rain was probably made by a mermaid learning a new style of swimming as she swam across the sky. Shane asked plenty of things throughout the story — how did a mermaid get up there? And since when was the sky made of water? Also, didn’t mermaids come into the world already knowing how to swim?
In return, Ilya told her it was because the mermaid was magic, of course. If Shane already believed in mermaids anyway, why couldn’t she also believe the mermaids could be in the sky? Wasn’t the sky was also just kind of like another sea, which was why it was so blue and so big? And everyone needed to learn how to do things, because even the mermaid was a child at some point. Or else what was the point of having to grow up, if you already knew everything from the start?
They spent the night like this. In the morning Shane was sniveling and sniffling and sneezing, but Ilya was hale and hearty as anything. Shane had to go back inside his house because he didn’t feel too good. Ilya worried about the older boy, but couldn’t understand why Shane would be like that. Didn’t he have fun in the treehouse castle?
That marked what felt like the longest time Shane wasn’t able to meet Ilya. Ilya on those days would just try to tidy up their treehouse, squeeze out the waterlogged stuffed animals, set the stools out to dry. He spent all his time in the garden, wondering when Shane would come out again.
Those days were the loneliest. Long mornings. Interminable afternoons. On those occasions, Ilya would make up his own quests and adventures. One time he saw two birds, one on a nest and another approaching with something on its beak. Trapped inside was a worm. The worm was a gift, apparently. The bird on the nest received it well, and afterwards they huddled together.
He knew he wanted to give Shane a gift. Something that would make the other child light up, make him less sad, and maybe he’d remember how fun it was to play together.
Ilya spent all day trying to find a good-sized branch. Bigger then a twig but smaller than a trunk. And he turned the garden inside out and found a perfectly skewed log, light and soft and carveable. He stole a knife from the kitchen and tried to make it into a figure. Shane’s grandmother used to call him ‘babybear,’ and honestly, Ilya couldn’t really see it, but -- "ow!" — if it could make Shane smile, then a babybear he was. Speaking of. The little nick on his right thumb hurt like… a bee sting. No, worse: an eaglebee’s sting. He was new to carving, and while the result was passable, it wasn’t without its dangers.
But nonetheless — he waited. He knew he wanted to be ready for whenever Shane came back from wherever he came from. And finally, one sunny and perfect day, Shane was allowed out again after school. He ran to their bench, a wound on his right thumb from a beginner’s woodworking class — she lit up so much and smiled so brightly that Ilya felt — whatever that was in his chest — stutter, sputter and start.
Whew.
Nothing new and nothing to see here, no sir. Shane Hollander smiled and everything became brighter. The shutters on the windows and the shadows in the corners never stood a chance.
"I love it, Ilya!” He beamed, very nearly putting the sunny afternoon to shame.
And Ilya knew then that he loved Shane, whatever it was in him that knew how to love.
“I’m sorry you didn’t like staying out at night on the fort,” Ilya mumbled, the only time he ever did anything with less than a hundred percent bravado.
Shane protested, “I did! But my parents got really worried and I got sick and everything. So they kept me from going out.”
And that could have been the end of it, but Ilya wanted to make up for it and also give him different gifts. Especially when Shane came up to hug him and even kissed him on the cheek; the older boy was an inch taller, so he had to bend down and stuff, but it wasn’t too bad. Ilya knew he had to learn other things to keep making gifts for Shane. How to carve a rhinoraptor. The wing of a dragon midflight. To practice, he carved out ‘Shane and Ilya’ on a scratchy bit of bark on their bench.
But there were days still -- just like always -- when Ilya would be asked to go home, and stay in a room and sit across a desk, and sometimes on the other side of it would be his blank-faced father, and sometimes his tremulous mother, whose fretting changed more and more into fear. And they would tell him, "Maybe being outside isn't as good for you as we'd thought. We thought you ran away that one time you stayed out overnight.”
"Maybe you should be with actual children your age."
"Maybe you shouldn't go out into the property over by the fence."
"Maybe we shouldn't indulge you as much."
“What do you mean, you got that carving from your friend? Your grandma made that for you.”
“This is getting out of hand.”
And Ilya felt -- an overwhelming, unknowable sense of despair when his mom and dad said these things. Like a part of him caving in. Like someone hollowed him out, the bones and heart and soul of him.
A world without Shane was a world where Ilya would be unable to live. And he would run out the study and down the brick hallway and out the door and into the garden until he made it to their spot. He would lock eyes with Shane, sitting there, anxious but awaiting and lighting up all at once when his eyes found Ilya's.
They grew up and around each other. Shane and Ilya, Ilya and Shane. Ilya was Shane’s source of joy as much as Ilya was Shane’s source of comfort. Ilya insisted that he had been the one to carve out “Shane and Ilya,” while Shane said that he had been the one to place that there, because Ilya had always been her favorite name, which was why he was sure his carving came first. (They decided that maybe they both did it, or at least, surely one of them did.) And over the days, Shane cried less, and over the months he smiled more, and over the years she taught Ilya what it was like, to hide and seek and lose and love and find and be found.
And Ilya made them go on quests and adventures and taught him not only that the chimney-dragons were real, but also? That together, they could beat them.
And so one day -- one day, when Shane was taller than the fence and together they couldn't fit into the bench without the other one falling onto the ground. On a day like many others. When Ilya looked into Shane’s face and saw it was his whole damn world.
Shane smiled. It wasn't his usual sad-happy smile. This one was smaller but softer and watery around the edges.
"Ilya, would you like to come into my house?"
Ilya laughed like birdsong on an early morning, like the joy of a forever friend, like a child who never had to grow up. He laughed like the knew the secrets of why mermaids lived in the sky, and why eaglebees were the noisiest during summer, and like he knew that Shane was always going to be okay. Of course he’d like to come to his house. Meet Shane’s mom and dad. See his baby pictures, see if he’d gotten better at woodworking. Maybe hear embarrassing stories about how the other boy was, before they’d met.
"Of course. Is it time?"
Shane shook his head, laughing and crying as he did so. He looked sad, but also very brave. He stood up and reached out his hands. "I don't think there's ever a perfect time.”
And then he tugged Ilya along, and together they stepped across the broken fence and walked up the small path to the Hollander’s front door.
The front door was already open, and Shane stopped him right outside the threshold. He hugged Ilya tight before everything changed forever. Ilya hugged him back, and this time he only came up to around her ears. Maybe, Shane was always going to be taller than him. At this point, there were really nothing about Shane that Ilya wouldn’t accept. And when he lifted Shane’s head, he was crying, and his ears, cheeks and freckles were flushed, and Ilya Rozanov loved him so, with everything and anything in him that knew how to love. In the quietest days when he was by himself, he knew that being Shane’s friend had been his life’s greatest adventure.
"I love you, Ilya. Thank you for being with me all this time."
And — those darned waterworks. He was still such a crybaby, after all these years.
And Ilya didn’t need to answer, because some things went without saying. Instead he stepped into the house, and it was made of solid brick and dark wood. And Shane led him to a room with a sitting chair and a desk much like his own, and he saw what he'd been expecting to see. The face of his father, now on the funny-looking man wearing a white doctor’s coat. A pad. Years worth of notes.
The face of his mother, who in this light actually looked a lot like Shane, only older. Only less tremulous. Less despairing. Now she looked hopeful, instead of afraid.
“Have you finally let go of that friend in the garden, Shane?”
Shane opened his teary eyes and smiled.
Shane Hollander had a very vivid imagination. This he'd always known.