Marc Harmon is an extraordinary person. He is special. I have loved him completely since almost the first moment I met him.
I was on holiday with my parents and his family had the cabin next door. The very first day, while my parents were unloading the car I ran off exploring and saw him sitting on the balcony that ran along the front of their cabin. I ran straight over and stopped a few steps away.
He was beautiful, the most beautiful person I had ever seen. He had curly blonde hair and the biggest, bluest eyes ever.
We stared at each other for a while and then he smiled at me. His smile was beautiful too, even though he was missing a front tooth.
I started kicking at the dirt with the toe of my shoe and sending him shy looks from under my fringe. After a while his smile faded to be replaced by a look of confusion. He must have wondered what on earth I was doing. No, knowing Marc he was wondering why I hadn't touched him yet.
Marc is a very tactile person; he loves to hug and be hugged. He is so sweet that everyone wants to hug him. Certainly at that point he was prone to throwing his arms around anyone who came close enough and kissing them. It's one of his most endearing traits.
Of course, at the time he was only five years old so it wasn't quite as off putting to strangers as it is now he's almost twenty one.
When his face started to pucker and tears to squeeze out from under the long thick lashes I did what I have always done since... I ran to him and hugged him.
Instantly the tears disappeared and that bright sunny disposition re emerged. He hugged me tightly and laughed. He has a wonderful laugh. No one who hears that laugh can help but smile, at the least.
By that time Mrs Harmon had come out onto the balcony and she gave me her smile, which is only a shade less wonderful than Marc's.
"Hello," she said. "And who might you be?"
Being only eight myself, I wasn't quite sure what she meant. "I'm James?" I said hopefully and she smiled again.
"Well hello James. I'm very pleased to meet you."
"We're on holiday. We're over there." I pointed towards our cabin and she smiled again.
At that point I was distracted by a gentle touch on my arm. I turned and looked down into pools of liquid blue. I have always been quite a bit taller than Marc but it was more pronounced then. While I was staring into his eyes he touched my face and said, "Pretty."
I smiled even though I didn't really know why I was smiling. If I had thought about it I would have realised that Marc's actions weren't exactly normal, even for a five year old, but I didn't see anything beyond his angel face and bright smile. He made me feel warm, he's had the same effect ever since.
"Would you like a drink, James, or some biscuits perhaps?"
"Yes please," I responded instantly, being at the age when affairs of the stomach overrode just about any other consideration.
"Do you want to see my special stone?" I asked Marc as she turned to leave. He smiled at me but didn't answer so I took out the stone and held it out to him. It was my most treasured possession. I had found it on the beach the year before and it had not been more than a foot away from me ever since.
For a moment Marc stared at me and then he stared at the stone. Gently he brushed the stone with his fingertips and then looked up again, his eyes wide with wonder.
"You can hold it if you want," I said magnanimously and he took it from my hand and lifted it close to his face to examine it carefully.
The stone is about the size of an egg and fits snugly into the palm of the hand... at least for a child. It is blue, shot through with white lines, making a criss cross pattern through the stone. I thought it was beautiful; so did Marc. He still has it.
When the time came to take back the stone he gave it up readily but looked so sad that it hurt my heart. There were tears in his eyes and his lips were trembling. I have never been able to stand seeing him cry and so I handed it straight back over, hungry for the beautiful smile that rewarded me.
I was way too young to know it right then but in that moment, when I handed him my stone, I also handed him my heart. He still has that too.
In the days that followed our families met and became fast friends and Marc and I were inseparable. Even when I discovered that he was different, not the same as anyone else, special, I adored him with a passion and spent every possible moment at his side.
I was fiercely protective of him and would move the earth to make him smile when he was sad.
Not so much then but, as the years passed and we spent every summer together, I would fight anyone who made him sad or tried to hurt him; and there were a depressing number over the years.
After the third or fourth year of meeting up every summer our parents became so friendly; initially they told me later because of the relationship that had developed between Marc and me; that we started to spend other holidays together. Marc visited my home and I went to him. It was one of those friendships that only grew stronger with separation.
When I was twelve Mr Harmon was promoted in his job and the family came to live only a short bus journey from my home. By then Marc had a sister, Judith who was four years old and as pretty as he was, although very different. She had the same sunny personality and sweet smile but she was bright and inquisitive, quick witted and talkative.
Marc was much quieter, tending to sit back and watch; waiting to be presented with things rather than seeking them out. He barely spoke and when he did it was usually single words or short, disjointed sentences. He made himself well understood though.
By then I had realised that Marc wasn't the same as everyone else, as anyone else. It wasn't just his beauty and his sweetness; it was more, much more. Strangely it was never an issue between us and it was a huge shock to me the first time I heard someone make a derogatory comment to him.
I found in unbelievable that anyone would want to hurt Marc, he was so gentle and loving but one time we were at the beach and there was a group of boys, about my age. I was eleven and Marc was barely eight. We were walking through the arcade hand in hand.
Our parents were next door in a bar and I think it was the first time I had been allowed to take him anywhere on our own.
The boys were gathered around one of the gaming machines and they started nudging each other and giggling. Marc was, and is, very distinctive looking, with his baby blonde hair and vivid eyes, which are always wide with wonder at everything.
We were lost in the colours and sounds of the arcade and Marc was bouncing with excitement. When the boys appeared in front of us he grinned at them and reached out his hand to touch a colourful wristband worn by the nearest boy who instantly snatched it back causing Marc to frown.
"Are you two gay or what?" One of the boys asked. I didn't even know what gay was, not then.
"Yeah... you're a couple of fags."
"I..." I had no idea what they were talking about but I knew danger when I saw it and I was seeing it in the form of four large pre teens with mean streaks a mile wide. If it had just been me I would probably have put up a fight. I was well built even then and have never run from confrontation. However, Marc was with me and the thought of him being hurt or scared was unbearable so I just took his hand and walked away, down one of the aisles.
