Paco was my ultimate pal. I met him on the first day of school and we clicked like cameras. Like me, this guy wasn't about to take any bs. He did what he knew was right and he wasn't gonna pass any social conformity tests. A real free man on the land.

Paco was Mexican. Well, in many ways, I suppose he still is. That sort of thing tends to stick.

Among the many great moments spent with Paco was the day the school hallways got waxed. It must have been the first day of term. Hot summer was still pounding down outside and the cool hallways offered relief. We'd come inside to splash water on our faces and that's when we'd discovered the waxed floor. Naturally, we took our shoes off to see if we could slide on the shiny surface, and to our delight, it was not only possible, but made for the task. With that discovery, all the free moments of our day were accounted for.

Now and then, other kids would come in for a splash of water, and we pounced immediately, involving them in the sliding action. We'd take a run up and then adopt the surfing pose until we came to a stop at the end of the hallway. Taking it in turns skidding down the hall, then remarking on how great a skid that was and going over the highlights, then returning to the back of the line to watch the other contestants, all the while, planning what kind of eccentric twist we were going to put on our next skid, in order to raise the most giggles and become the greatest sock skidder of all time. This was were legends were made.

Paco discovered that you could slide on your ass, too, which opened the floor to a range of freestyle experimentation that took the excitement up yet another notch. At the end of one such slide, while still in the seated position, Paco looked up at me and I told him to stay still so I could take a photo. Then I realized I didn't have a camera. But not to worry, I told him, for I had photographic vision. I just hadn't mentioned it before because it never came up. I blinked, made a camera sound and promised him a copy the next day before school started. My only problem was figuring out how to get the image out of my mind and onto paper. But if I couldn't figure it out, I would just ask mom. She would have the answer, because adults could do anything. Literally.

But then, disaster struck, as it tends to do. Yet another child came in from the hot field, in search of refreshment, and saw our incredible event unfolding before him. Unable to contain his excitement at the sudden discovery, he let out an almighty squeak that was loud enough to reach the staff room at the other end of the hallway. A teacher poked her head out to see what had caused the sound and by then, there must have been ten of us lined up for a medal attempt in the hallway.

The game was up.

We should have kept it to ourselves. It was good. Why did we have to tell everyone? Now it was ruined. We were all sent back out into the baking sun, but all we wanted to do was slide about in our socks.

We spent the last minutes of play time looking for patches of dust and gravel, hoping to recreate the game, but we came up short. We'd lived the moment to the limit and now we had to let it go.

But some of us never did.