From A Writer's Book of Days:Kelly and I would be walking home from school, holding hands tightly the way first-graders do. If we were going to her house, we'd pass close enough to the train tracks to hear the rumbling and whistling trains and we'd clasp hands even more tightly, our nails digging into each other's palms.
"Everybody loves the sound of a train in the distance. Everybody thinks it's true." (After Paul Simon)
Because the elementary school was fairly close to the train tracks, we had many assemblies with scary films meant to educate us about the dangers of trains and playing on or near their tracks. Kelly once almost passed out and I threw up at a particularly gory scene where the young heros get squashed at the end.
So the films worked. Even the sound of the faraway whistle gave us the shivers. We'd never dream of playing within sight of a train.
Sometimes we walked to my house and once along the way we came across some graffiti on a fence. We asked my mother what "fuck" meant and she reddened and told us to never say that again.
When Kelly got home she asked her mother, Jan. This was 1972 and Jan and Kelly's dad, Danny, were hippies. Jan told Kelly that it was another word for "love." For about a month Kelly and I parted ways at the end of our walks home by saying, "I fuck you." Someone must have put a stop to it, or maybe we just got bored of it.