When we were seven we were inseparable. My cousin was my best friend. He had blond curls and a sweet, sweet smile. He was brave and smart, afraid only of garbage men, but reckoned he could ride his bike faster than they could drive the truck. Together we dreamed up skits and performed miracles. We dressed as Dagwood and Blondie in the fourth of July parade and won first prize. We played "office" taking turns being boss. He was great at typing receipts and ordering parts. Our premier enterprise was the Cousins Custom made Potholder Caper. Our business plan: hit every house in our little town. Everyone needs potholders, no one would resist the sales pitch of Dagwood and Blondie. We spent months and months weaving loops on looms creating amazing color combinations and patterns. We plotted and schemed. We stockpiled our product in a huge suitcase and dragged it with us everywhere. Eventually we pitched every house in town..potholders twenty five cents each, five for a dollar. We made a fortune. We grew up. We lost touch. He and a friend fell off the face of the earth. No forwarding address. Just disappeared. He died. In Florida. Maybe of Aids. He could have told us. We loved him. We would buy any story he wanted to tell. He didn't want to tell.