Daily Prompt: Gate
The sweet smells of bluebells always remind me of Wilton. We would play in his front garden almost every afternoon, or just sit up against the little white gate, perfectly framed by small, well-manicured hedges and beds of bluebells, chatting the afternoon away. I always wanted to live in the house on our street with the prettiest front garden. But no, Wilton really did have all the luck.
We were about six when The Wilton’s moved in next door. Yes, I know – who does that to their child? Wilton Wilton! The youngest of six boys, I guess they’d run out of names by the time Will came along. He was the funniest looking boy I’d ever seen all arms and legs with spiky up hair, big blue eyes, and spectacles so large on his small face they spent most of their time half way down his nose.
By the time he turned fifteen, Will had grown into himself. His hair was long, past his shoulders, his shoulders had filled out and the contacts he now wore made his eyes look even bluer. Wilton Wilton didn’t go through a spotty phase, unlike me. Instead he became – beautiful. Who becomes beautiful in their teens! My best friend is who. His outside caught up with his insides in an explosion of hormonal genius, seemingly overnight, and I took it upon myself to become very protective of him.