Date: Tue, 2 Jul 2013 09:29:46 -0700 (PDT) From: Pok Bepxtep Subject: Sander chapter 3 SSSSSSSS AAAAAAA NNN NNN DDDDDDD EEEEEEEEE RRRRRRRR SSS AAA AAA NNNN NNN DDD DDD EEE RRR RRR SSSSSSS AAAAAAAAA NNN N NNN DDD DDD EEEEEEE RRRRRRRR SSSSSSS AAA AAA NNN NNNN DDD DDD EEE RRR RRR SSS AAA AAA NNN NNN DDD DDD EEE RRR RRR SSSSSSSS AAA AAA NNN NNN DDDDDDD EEEEEEEEE RRR RRR XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX by Pok Bepxtep XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX Chapter 3: Preparations ------------------------ When I woke up the following morning I almost felt like I was still dreaming. The whole film of the previous day played in my mind over and over, skipping the parts where Sander wasn't in it. I was truly amazed at how quickly the boy had become such an important part of my life. When I'd moved to this neighborhood, I had feared the weekends, afraid that a sense of loneliness would creep over me. A pair of inline skates had literally knocked that feeling out of me, replacing it with sheer happiness. But every now and then that happiness was clouded by another type of insecurity. I knew all too well that the friendship between Sander and me was nothing short of a dream come true. However, whenever I did dream of me being friends with a boy like Sander, the friendship was in a much more evolved stadium. A stadium which would be declared sick and perverted, nurtured by my physical attraction towards young boys, whom, in those dreams, were usually quite well informed about how their bodies worked. The problem now was that the imaginary boys in my fantasies, lets call them what they are, were all starting to look a lot like the neighbor boy who was worming himself deeply into my life. When that happened, a feeling of guilt would creep over me like a tarantula on the hunt, but not even a whole army of the eight legged critters could stop my fantasies to keep rolling on until, well, you know... That's what worried me: would I be able to keep myself from doing those things I did in those fantasies? There were a few differences between dreams and reality, though, that made me believe I would be. The biggest contrast lay with Sander and the imaginary boys. In my fantasies, it was always the boy who would make the first move... even then I wanted that everything that happened was with the child's consent. I may only have met Sander not even two weeks ago, I could not imagine him doing that... nor any other boy at that. I always have a hard time believing any nine year old would voluntarily want to do something sexual with a grown man. But still the fear remained. In those two weeks, there hadn't really been any moment where something might have happened. I hadn't even been alone with him, except when I got him home early from his football match, but there had been more pressing matters to deal with then. I did hope that Sander and I would be allowed to spend some time together, perhaps with me as Sander's babysitter. Knowing about his sleeping habits, that might become very trying. I suppose the key to prevent any major disasters would be to always put Sander's welfare in the first place. I think I already even passed one small test when I discovered that the boy preferred sleeping in the raw and didn't even think about taking a peek under the covers. He didn't seem shy, though, so it will probably be inevitable that he would one day stand before me in his birthday suit. The moment that happened I would know how strong my will to resist really was. Unbreakable, I hoped, because I treasured Sander's friendship way too much to put it at stake for something as trivial as sex. It was while I was thinking about all this that the matter of babysitting wasn't too far fetched. It hadn't happened yet and it might even be a while before Annie would trust me to take care of her grandson while she was out. I had to make sure, however, that whenever she did ask, I was prepared for it. In my opinion, babysitting Sander also meant accommodating him for the night, because it would be a lot more practical for the boy to spend the night at my place so Annie could sleep in when she wanted to. So, I spent Sunday afternoon running through all the options, which were quite few, to be honest. First possibility: Sander in my bed, me on the couch. It's a comfortable couch enough for the occasional night, but something inside me told me Sander would never want me to give up my own bed for him, even if I insisted. Second option on but immediately off the list: Sander on the couch, me in bed. You simply do not put a child on a couch for the night, even if he might think it adventurous. Three, tempting but no: Sander in bed with me. It's definitely big enough, but with what I said above about avoiding any sort of tantalizing situations, that was not an option. It would be wonderful to wake up in the morning with Sander's cute little face being the first thing I'd see, but if his sleeping in the raw didn't limit itself to his own bed, there could be trouble. So, the only possible solution was to give Sander his own bedroom at my place. Luckily, I had that second bedroom, which now served as a storage room for cd's and dvd's. My priorities lay with Sander, though, so I went upstairs to that spare bedroom and started measuring up the room and thinking about how I could make it a comfortable bedroom for Sander, without having to move my music and films somewhere else. The measurements written down on a post-it note, I switched on my computer and surfed the IKEA website. But then I came up with a better idea: if the spare bedroom was to be Sander's during sleepovers, why not let him chose what it should look like. They were expecting a call from me somewhere during next week with the details on the boy's try out, so why not try and find out if I could borrow him for an afternoon of furniture shopping. With that plan in the back of my mind, the working week started off interestingly, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the job. During our lunch break, Mark, who had arranged Sander's try out, joined me at my table, like he always does. Like every week he told me about how his team performed. Before meeting Sander, I'd envied him for being surrounding by young boys, mostly because I could tell how much he loved coaching them. Mark also really cared about the kids in his team, which was why I'd contacted him when I found out how troublesome Sander's matches went. After his match report, he brought up the forthcoming try out. "So, what did your little neighbor decide?" he wanted to know. "Is he game?" "Yep, he is," I told him. "No matter what level he'll be playing at, he just wants to play matches and score goals." "Of course," Mark smiled. "I haven't coached a single kid in all those years who didn't want that, unless they were dead set on becoming a goalie." "I bet," I chuckled, always happy to hear Mark share his experiences with me. "Thanks again for doing this for him, by the way. I owe you." "Nah, we're good," Mark said. "Now let's go through the details, shall we?" "Okay," I agreed. "I'm gonna let Sander play in our next home game," the man started. "That's this Saturday at 9.30 am. I expect him to be there an hour early, for changing, warmups and mostly for me to get to know him a bit and find out what position he usually plays in." "Okay, we'll be there," I told Mark. "Anything else?" "Yeah..." Mark nodded, looking at me a bit quizzically. "Thing is, I'm letting Sander play in the team that's in the same league as his, to make sure he gets a fair chance. Guess who their opponent is..." I let the information filter through my mind and it didn't take long to realize what Mark was saying. "They're playing Rood-Zwart, right? Sander's team." "Yep," my colleague nodded. "Would that be a problem for him?" "I honestly can't tell, Mark," I said. "You should ask him," Mark advised me. "I can always postpone his try outs another week, if needs be." "I'm seeing him later today," I told him. "I'll talk to him about it. If it were me, though, I'd go through with it, but that's mainly because I want to see his coach's face when he sees Sander in your colors." "A bit vengeful, are we?" Mark snickered understandingly. "That might not be the right motivation, but it might do his confidence some good if he could show his coach he does deserve to play." "My thought exactly," I agreed. "But it's his choice, in the end." "Of course," Mark nodded. "Ask him what he wants to do and let me know first thing tomorrow. We're only a few weeks before the end of the season, though, so there's not many options left." "I'm aware of that," I said. "He was really thrilled about being allowed a try out for the big Racing Doomkapelle, though, and I do think he'll take this chance in both hands." "Okay," Mark smiled. "Well, tell the boy I look forward to seeing him play. I get the feeling he'll surprise the both us." "He just might," I laughed, getting up to go back to work, more and more sure that things would work out well for Sander. The rest of the day went by numbingly slowly. I was way too anxious to tell Sander the news and I was really curious about what he'd decide. I also intended to sneak in my invitation to go furniture shopping. I know it's not the most fun thing for a boy of nine to do, but it was worth to try. If needs be, I could always strike the deal by telling him whom we'd be shopping for. Of course, his grandmother would have to agree, as well. Shortly before leaving the office I made a quick phone call, asking Annie at what time she preferred me to come with the new information. Because it was a school night, she preferred to see me before dinner, so I told her I'd drop by as soon as I got home from work. An hour after the phone call, I'd squeezed in a little grocery shopping on my way home, I stood before my neighbor's front door. This time it was Annie inviting me in, telling me Sander was too busy watching tv. She told me to take a seat in the lounge while she got me a cup of coffee. In the lounge I found Sander curled up on the couch, watching some cartoon I didn't know, dressed in a green hooded sweater and a pair of blue jeans. I quietly sat down next to him, trying not to disturb him. I was unsuccessful. "Hey, Robert," Sander cheerfully greeted me, quickly forgetting the toon figures on the tv. He sat up and then leaned into me for a hug. "Hey, sport," I smiled, my heart skipping a beat when he added a quick kiss on the cheek. "How was school today?" "Okay," he just said and then looked at me hopefully. "Are you having dinner with us again?" "No, not tonight, buddy," I told him as I wrapped an arm around him in a friendly manner. "It's a school night, so we wouldn't have time to play that game of RISK you challenged me to, the last time." "Oh, okay," he replied, clearly disappointed. "Hey, don't worry. There'll be a lot more chances for us to play," I reassured him, squeezing his shoulder tenderly. "I'm here for something else, now." "What's that?" Sander asked. "You haven't forgotten about Racing, have you?" I reminded him. "Oh, right," he reacted quickly. "So, what did your colleague say?" "He said he was looking forward to seeing you play, kiddo," I repeated Mark's words. "I am, too, actually." "Cool," the boy chimed. "So I really get to try out for Racing?" "Yep, you do," I confirmed. "This Saturday or the next, if you'd rather wait another week." "Why would I want to wait?" Sander asked a bit confused. "Well, apparently Racing has a team that's playing in your league," I told him carefully. "Mark wants you to play with them this Saturday. But there's one little thing you should know, though." "How do you mean?" Sander wanted to know, his confusion growing. "If you play this week," I said, "you'll be playing against Rood-Zwart." Sander's eyes grew big as saucers when he realized what I was saying. "You mean, against my team?" "Yep," I nodded. "Mark wanted me to ask you if you're okay with that. If you'd rather wait till next week, it's okay with him." Biting his lower lip, Sander pondered over what I'd just told him. Not immediately able to make a decision, he turned to me questioningly. "What would you do?" he asked. "Oy! Tough question," I admitted. "I've been thinking about it, too. Whatever you say, goes, but if it were me, I would go for it." "Really? Even if you'd be playing against your friends?" Sander asked. "I understand that's not easy," I said. "But if they're really your friends, they would be glad for you to be given the chance." "Maybe," he sighed. "You're a good kid, Sander," I smiled, softly rubbing his shoulder. "You're loyal to your friends and that's only recommendable, but you're allowed to put yourself in the first place once in a while. No one will hold that against you." "Are you sure?" the boy still doubted. "Positive," I nodded with certainty. "What if I mess it up?" he asked a bit worried. "That's something we'll worry about afterwards," I eased his worries. "No matter how well you do, you'll be playing for Racing. Mark just wants to see you perform so he can decided which of the teams you'll fit in best. All you can do for now is just do your best and play the way you did." "I suppose," the kid sighed again and then looked at me pleadingly. "You're coming too, right?" "I wouldn't miss it for the world, buddy," I promised him. "I'll be rooting for you the whole time. Besides, I'll need to introduce you to Mark, so he knows who you are." "Okay," Sander finally agreed and then flashed his trademark smile at me. "I'll try and score a few goals for you, Robert." "That would be awesome, kid," I smiled and then hugged the kid into me again. "Now, something else. Do you have plans for Saturday afternoon?" "I don't know," he said, turning to his grandmother, who'd followed our conversation from the seat next to us. "Do we, granny?" "No, not really," Annie told us. "Why?" "Well, you remember the room you helped me move those cd's and all up, right," I explained Sander. "Yeah, what about it?" he asked curiously. "I was thinking about making it a genuine bedroom, in case I'd ever have a guest staying over," I elaborated. "Oh. And what's that got to do with me," Sander wanted to know. "I'll be needing to shop for a bed and such," I told him. "I was thinking, maybe you'd like to tag along when I go shopping. That is, if your grandmother doesn't mind." "Shopping? Won't that be boring?" Sander asked. "Probably, that's why I'm asking you to join me, so it'll be a bit less boring," I grinned. "I don't know..." Sander pondered, on the verge of refusing my invitation. "Do I have to?" "No, of course not, it was just an idea," I smiled, ready to play my trump card. "But when I saw your bedroom last weekend, I thought you had good taste. I was kinda hoping you'd come and help me pick the right stuff to make the guest room a bit cool." "You want me to choose?" Sander asked, thinking I was kidding him. "I do," I nodded affirmatively, heading onto thin ice with the next phase. "Because, if you're cool with it, I want to make it a room for you." "For me?" Sander now chirped, not believing his ears. I turned to his grandmother, a bit worried I was taking this a step too far. "The thing is, Annie," I said to her. "I know we've only met a short while ago, but I thought, why not offer my services as a babysitter. I don't know if you ever need one, of course, but it would be my way to repay you for the last two Saturday dinners." "A babysitter?" Annie asked. "You mean you'd look after him if I'd ever go out or something." "That's the main idea," I confirmed. "Well, I do go out on occasion," Annie told me. "Usually I ask Cindy, one of the other teachers' daughter, to come watch over him. She does a good job with him." "You don't have to change that, if you prefer keeping things the way they are," I said understandingly. "But I have one big advantage over Cindy." "What might that be?" the woman wanted to know. "Besides the occasional dinner, I'd do it for free," I smiled. "I spend most of my Saturdays at home watching movies, so I'm usually available. I'd have the pleasure of Sander's company and with his own room, he could stay the night, so you can enjoy your night out as long as you want to." "That's very tempting, Robert," Annie said, slowly falling for my little sales pitch. "Oh, please say yes," Sander pitched in, dropping to his knees in front of his grandmother. "Robert's a lot more fun than Cindy. All she ever does is study or play with her cell phone. At least Robert plays games with me." "Now, how can I say no to that," Annie conceded thanks to Sander's Oscar winning performance. No lab puppy had begged for his cookie as well he did. "And I've seen how you are with him. I know you care a lot about my little boy and that he'll be safe with you. But on one condition..." "Which is...?" I asked. "I'm paying for half of the furniture you're buying this afternoon," she said, with no room for me to refuse and then looked down at her grandson, who was still on his knees in front of her. "That means, Sander, you can go out shopping with Robert this afternoon." "I really get my own room at your place, Robert?" the boy wanted to make sure. "Yep, you do," I nodded. "That's why I need you to come along. Otherwise, I'll end up with a little girl's room." "Yuk, no," Sander quickly interjected. "It's cool, I'm coming." "Great!" I said truly happy with the outcome. "Now, I'd better leave you to your dinner. I'll come pick you up on Saturday morning, okay?" "Cool," Sander chimed cheerfully. "I'll be ready." "You best both come back here for lunch after your match, then," Annie suggested. "Then you can get to your shopping early and be back in time for dinner." "Okay, Annie," I smiled at her. "I'll take good care of Sander, I promise." "I know you will, Robert," she just nodded. "See you next Saturday, then." "Yep," I said and then ruffled Sander's hair, the boy still kneeled on the rugged floor. "See you later, ey, sport. Oh, and one more thing. Don't tell anyone about your try out yet, this week, they might not take it well." "Okay, I won't," Sander promised. The boy then quickly got up and gave me a quick hug, before planting his little butt back on the couch. "Bye, Robert! See you on Saturday!" he said, waving at me and then focussing back on the tv. If there hadn't been any traffic in the street I would probably have skipped home, I felt so happy. In one night, I'd not only convinced Sander to play his try out match, even if it'd be against his friends, I'd also got him to come along shopping for the bedroom furniture and pretty much hired myself as his future babysitter. I was growing addicted to Sander's presence and I was grateful that his grandmother trusted me with him. The possibility of having the boy as my guest of honor was something to look forward to, no matter when that time would come. After all, I needed to know how much I could trust myself if I was alone with him for some time. The next day I had lunch with Mark again. I told him of Sander's decision and he went ahead making some extra arrangements as to where we should meet upon arrival. I'd told him about keeping things secret till Saturday, which he agreed to. He called it 'the element of surprise' and I admitted that it was exactly what I'd intended by our secrecy. I just wanted to see the face of Sander's coach when he first sees Sander in the yellow and purple of Racing. I really hoped the boy would indeed score a few goals, if only to make the bitter pill a bit harder to swallow. The rest of the week went by eventless, but by Friday night, when I got home from work and put some lasagna in the oven for dinner, I had become ever so anxious about how Saturday would go. The plans ahead were terrific, all thanks to Sander being part of them, but so many things could go wrong, that day. My little friend might indeed not be a highly talented player and there was a chance that his match wouldn't go as we'd both like. I had no way of knowing how good he was. I hadn't seen him play, yet, and he hadn't really told much. All I knew was what I'd learned from one of the other kids' fathers. And there was one more thing that bugged me. With what had happened last week and the rather speedy arrangements made to transfer Sander to another team, there hadn't been time to talk about why his coach had been treating him like that. It might not matter to Sander anymore, but somehow I felt responsible for what might happen in the future. I mean, what if the man decided to replace Sander and do exactly the same with one of the other kids. If I was able do anything to prevent that, I would. Asking Sander was an option, but I figured a few words with the other supporting parents might be the better choice. Frankly, I doubt if my buddy ever knew what had been the cause for all this. I knew there'd be a gap of time before the match began, so I would have to make the most of that. While I was stuffing my face with the cheap lasagna, the doorbell rang. Not really in the mood for visitors, I shuffled to the front door and opened it. My mood immediately changed when the light of my hallway shone onto my visitors. "Surprise!" I heard my favorite voice shout out. "Well, hello there, buddy," I greeted Sander, who did not hesitate to fling himself into my arms again, with his grandmother standing right behind him, observing the whole scene. "What brings you here, huh?" "That was granny's idea," Sander said, looking back over his shoulder as I held him. "It's about the room upstairs." "I see," I nodded. "Let's go inside where we'll be more comfy to chat." I then showed Annie in, closed the door and carried Sander into the lounge where I dropped him on the couch, which he clearly found amusing, going by how he giggled in the way only young boys can. I invited Annie to sit down as well and offered them both a drink. Sander went for some ice tea, Annie drank coffee, like me. "So, the room upstairs," I said as I put down their drinks. "Yes," Annie replied as she stirred some cream into her coffee. "Since you're planning to let Sander chose the furniture and the decorations, it might be a good idea to let him check it out first." "Oh, right, of course," I agreed. "We don't want to end up with furniture that doesn't fit, huh. I already measured it out, though." "That's a start," Annie smiled. "Come with me," I then ordered Sander, getting up and heading for my desk. There, I waited until he stood next to me and picked up the post-it note with the numbers, laying it out before him. "Look, this is how big the room is," I explained. "Why don't you head upstairs and draw out a little plan with how you'd like the bed and all that to be. You can use all the pens and paper you need." "I really get to decide what the room will look like?" Sander asked, still thinking I wasn't serious. "There's no fun in having you stay the night in a room you don't like, now, is there," I smiled, ruffling his hair a bit. I grabbed him by the shoulders, turned him in the general direction of the stairs and playfully slapped his little buns. "Now, skedaddle, my little interior designer. Go knock yourself out." Giggling excitedly (and probably because of the tap on his posterior), the boy quickly headed for the hallway and up the stairs. I then joined Annie again, taking a sip of my coffee. "That should keep him busy for a bit," I told her. "You have no idea how much this means to him, Robert," she said, rather seriously. "I don't know," I honestly answered, not quite understanding why she said that. "Maybe I'm rushing things a bit. I just want to be there for him, as his friend." "He already knows that," Annie said. "But you're doing a lot more than just being there for him. You're letting him make his own decisions and you've accepted him for who he is." "That's hardly difficult, is it," I shrugged. "He's a great kid. He's clever enough to make the right choices. I can only give him some guidance, but in the end it's Sander who has to do what he thinks best, even if it turns out badly. It's called learning, I suppose." "Exactly," Annie agreed. "But it's you who allows him to learn. Why are you giving him that bedroom?" "Except for a few racks of dvd's and cd's, it's pretty much an empty room," I simply told her. "It's nice to know it's going to be used, every now and then. If Sander's ever spending the night, he'd be most comfortable in a room of his own." "He would have settled for the couch, you know," the kind lady simply said. "He's already happy you want to look after him, mostly because he knows you'll actually pay attention to him." "I just want him to be comfortable," I told her. "And allow him some privacy if he needs it." "I know what you mean," Annie understood. "He won't mind wearing pajamas, if you ask him to." "With his own room, he can do whatever he likes," I simply stated. "I want it to feel like home a bit. That's part of it." "That's what I meant when I said you've accepted him for who he is," Annie smiled. "I have, so why change anything," I said. "Besides, if he doesn't need pajamas, he won't have to pack to spend the night here. All he'll need is his own toothbrush, which I'll be happy to buy for him." "I hadn't even thought about that," Annie laughed. "It must be true men are more practical." "If practical is a form of laziness, I suppose it is true," I joked along. "Now what's keeping our aspiring interior designer so long?" "Yeah, it is getting a bit late," Annie wondered as well. "It's about time to get him ready for bed." "I'll go run upstairs and see what he's unto," I said, getting up. A minuted later I had climbed the stairs and found the door to the second bedroom ajar, with some light creeping through the crack. I opened the door quietly, not wanting to startle Sander. I found him on his knees, bent over a piece of paper, diligently working on a drawing of some sort. I hunched down next to him and briefly peeked at the drawing. I must admit I was curious about what he was drawing. "Sander, buddy," I said quietly, reaching out and gently caressing his back. "I'm afraid it's time to head home." "Oh, already?" Sander complained as he sat up. "I haven't finished yet." "Can I see it?" I asked. "Yeah, sure," he nodded, picking up the drawing and holding it between us. "Wow, you did a great job, kiddo," I told him, amazed at the detail in the plan he'd drawn. Believe me, I didn't just say that to please Sander. He'd really gone through lengths with it. The drawing not only showed where the bed, the desk with chair and a small dresser had to go, it said pretty much what the furniture should look like, colors and all. Underneath he'd written down some details, information on what went in the dresser (a change of clothes in case he'd be with me for more than a night, spare blankets...) and what he liked to use the desk for (to play games at his laptop, do homework, drawing...). He had omitted the racks with my cd's and dvd's, but I had already found a solution for those, in case he didn't want them in the room. I had a small storage room downstairs that was spacious enough for all that. On top of the whole scheme with the furniture, he'd even marked the walls, writing out what color he wanted them painted in. That hadn't been part of the deal, but I silently agreed that it wouldn't be his room if he didn't like the colors of the walls. That meant we'd have to make a stop at a D-I-Y store on our way back from our furniture shopping. As we were sitting there, he pointed at every feature on the drawing, explaining what it all meant. For a nine year old boy, he had a very keen eye for detail. The "aspiring interior designer" remark I'd made earlier when talking with his grandmother might have been closer to reality than I'd imagined. I made a mental note in the back of my head to talk to him about that some day. His enthusiasm was rubbing off on me and I knew I'd made the right choice to make this room his. When he finished his exposition, he looked me right in the eye, waiting for me to speak my mind about it all. "Jeez, kiddo, you know what you want, don't you," I remarked. "Do you like it?" he wanted to know. I quickly looked around the room and then nodded. "Your drawing and what you've explained to, I can pretty much see it. Your room will be a lot cooler than mine." "You mean that?" he asked. "You bet," I admitted. "If you don't pay attention, I might even switch your room with mine." "But you said I could have this room," he complained. "I'm just kidding, little prince," I winked, patting his thigh a couple of times. "The room's all yours. Just one little question. Who's gonna paint these walls?" "Errr... Dunno," he pondered. "Since you've done such a good job drawing out this plan, maybe we can do the whole decorating together," I suggested. "From scratch." "You mean we'd be painting it together?" Sander wanted to know if he understood me correctly. "That's right," I nodded. "And put all the furniture in place. It will feel even more like your room if you did all that yourself. Well, with my help." My little artist looked around the room a bit and then smiled. Obviously the idea of creating his own space by himself met with his approval. He turned to me, his eyes twinkling with happiness. "This is going to be so cool," he said cheerfully and then wrapped his arms around me in a loving hug. "Thanks, Robert," he whispered. I held the boy closely and patted his back. "You're most welcome, my little prince," I answered just as silently. "Now, let's get you downstairs before your grandmother thinks I'm keeping you here." We both got up, reluctantly letting go of each other and headed downstairs, Sander leading the way, holding his drawing in his hands. Halfway down, the boy stopped and turned around a bit to be able to look at me. "I like it when you call me your little prince," he said with a loving smile, blushing a bit as he told me. Before I could reply, he turned around again and hopped down the rest of the stairs, going into the living room where his grandmother sat, waiting to go home. We set a time when I would pick up Sander for his try outs, said our goodbyes and then I showed Annie and the boy out, wishing them goodnight. I only went back inside when they were out of sight, still not believing my luck in having such an amazing little fellow as my friend. It was only when I sat back on my couch, my unfinished lasagna completely forgotten, that I knew what Sander had really said when he admitted that he liked being called my little prince. I don't know how often nine year old boys say 'I love you', but deep inside I knew that was exactly what he meant. And rest assured, I felt the same way. Sensitive as he is, he must have translated my pet name for him as a declaration of love for him, which he had now accepted and returned tenfold. This complicated our friendship in a way, because doing something wrong to him would not only jeopardize our friendship, it could also mean breaking his frail little heart. That I did not want to happen.