Hank

"Who is that?", his mother asked, pointing at the window. They were having desserts and in front of the house was a boy, obviously waiting for somebody, having a glance in the house again and again.
"That's my friend, Hank", he answered, while the rest of the family all turned around and were having a good look. The boy probably noticed and walked out of sight, but returned after what could not have been more than a minute. He spooned his pudding in an amazing speed, felt a bit uncomfortable with the situation. Why could stupid Hank not wait at the corner of the street, like he was asked to do?

"Can I go now?" He looked at his sisters' plates; as usual they were eating in slow-motion. He feared he would have to wait till everybody was finished, what always happened when his parents were not completely happy with life and their children. To his relief he heard: "Oh, go on then! But be home before it gets dark!" He did not want to look to eager, but had problems not to run off.
Hank had moved to the corner of the street when he got out of the house and they ran together to the fields that surrounded the village.

The next morning, at the breakfast table, he was questioned like he feared he would be. Who was this boy? Where did he live? What did his father do for a job? Did he have any brothers or sisters? How old were the parents?
Reluctantly he gave answers where he could, but ran off after he finished to stack away the last sandwich in his mouth. Again he could go, without waiting for the others to finish.
The weather was a lot worse, so they decided to play in Hank's house with his trainset. Having such a thing was a luxury he could only dream off.

The next day at the breakfast table his father said: "Mrs.Dimble said that you were a polite and very nice boy. We were very pleased to hear this." He didn't react on this, had a feeling of being betrayed, just made a sort of mumbling sound that seemed to escape him.
"What's that?", his father asked.
"Nothing", he reacted, as honest as could be.
Hank wanted to play at his place again, but he refused and they went into the fields again. Things felt different and Hank teamed up in a meadow between some cows with a farmer's boy and had a peeing competition he himself didn't want to enter.

After that day he saw Hank a lot less, didn't go to his place anymore. It was Hank who kept their friendship up a bit.
One evening the telephone rang, of course his father answered, the telephone was not something he or his sisters would touch and mother never seemed to answer either.
Father sounded very friendly: "No problem at all Mrs.Dimble! It really was our pleasure to give these stamps. I hope she'll make a quick recovery."

The word "stamps" gave him a bad gut feeling. What stamps were they talking about?
When father was seated again he dared to ask: "What did Mrs.Dimble thank you for?"
Father looked at him like he should have known, like the question was stupid: "We gave your stamps to her for her little niece, who is in hospital. She is quite ill and you don't do anything with your stamps anyway."
He had a feeling of an impossible anger, had no way to let it out. Maybe he could have said "I could not do anything because you want me out of the house all the time", or "these stamps were mine; you can't give away other people's things". Instead he said nothing, only mumbled: "I go to bed now."
In bed he punched the pillow very hard, but it did not give any relief.

Weeks later his mother asked: "We never see your friend Hank anymore..."
His answer was very clear, he thought: "We are no friends anymore."
"Why?"
"Just because!"
That evening his parents went over to the Dimble's house again, to play cards. His older sister would be in charge again.
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