When in Need of a Friend

Oh Emily...

It's all gone by so fast, you know? It feels like it was only yesterday that we were playing in the backyard, having a tea party or dancing together. I remember the pink walls of your room, as pink as my skin, the shaggy carpet, and your white dresser covered in stickers. Remember how you used to sneak up a bucket of water to your room and I'd spray you with my trunk? Everything got wet! Oh, mom got so mad after that one. 

It’s at times like these that I can’t help but think about the early days. Do you remember how we first met? It was the happiest day of my life! You had just started kindergarten. You were excited and a bit shy, but still courageous. When you tried to play with the other kids, they all said no and turned away from you. You might not remember the sting, but I do. I remember it because that’s when I opened my eyes for the first time. That’s all I was at first, the seed of a thought, seen through eyes blurred by lonely tears.

You went to the craft table, took a pink crayon in your hand, and started to draw. You drew circles and lines, then some curves, then some legs, two big floppy ears, and trunk, and a little tail. You filled it all in with pink and added two blue eyes.

“Hello!” I said to you. “What’s your name?”

You told me and then asked me mine.

“I…don’t know! I don’t think I have a name.”

So, you gave me one. You named me Elly - Elly the elephant.

“Do you want to play with me?” I asked.

From that day forward, we were inseparable. Just Emily and Elly the elephant, drawing rainbows and sneaking cookies out of the jar. I remember that Christmas when you got not one, not two, but five colouring books! I remember when Jenny hit you in the playground, and I hugged you nonstop for two days. I even remember Gabe, the first boy you ever liked. You weren't sure why, but you just did. 

You told me everything that was on your mind- all your plans, your fears, your dreams, and your secrets. We could tell each other anything!

I remember the day you didn't turn to look at me when I asked you what was wrong with mom…

That day, when mom left to stay at the hospital, she packed all the drawings of me and you away and stuffed them in a box to keep in her room. You know which ones, right? The ones from the fridge and the wall in your room, held together with scotch tape. You might not know it, but she'd look at them almost every day during her chemotherapy, just to keep you close when you weren't around. 

I also remember when you sold all your toys at that yard sale. You fiddled with the teacups we used to drink from before taking the five-dollar bill and sending it all away. 

“We can buy new teacups with that five-dollar bill, right? Or maybe we can go to the fair together!” I asked, tugging on your shirt. You didn’t answer. You gave the money you made to dad, who placed it in an envelope.

As time went on, you stopped turning towards me when I asked how you were. You stopped drawing and talking to me. After the funeral, I think I turned invisible to you for good. Something inside me knew that this was all part of it. Kids grow up and eventually they don’t need their imaginary friends anymore.

But nothing about this felt normal to me. So, I decided to stay, even if you didn’t know I was there, just in case.  

I think the following years were the most difficult for you, and for me too.

You, me, and dad moved out of the house into an apartment in town. The space was small, but cozy. Dad started working shifts at the convenience store down the street, and we only saw him for an hour in the morning, when he’d prepare our dinner for the evening.

A few months later, on your 13^th birthday, dad bought a small cake and some painting supplies. After blowing out the candles and having cake, dad left for work at the convenience store. I remember that was the day he started drinking more heavily.

You started high school a month later. None of your old friends were there because it was a different school. I sat with you in the back corner of the class, trying to study Shakespeare, but I could see that you weren’t there with me. You were looking out the window, the sky as drab and grey as the walls of our bedroom. You started hanging around a rough crowd of kids, who smoked cigarettes and brought alcohol to school. I tried telling you that it was a bad idea, but you couldn’t hear me. Or maybe you could, but you decided to follow them anyway.

You started sneaking out to parties and you wouldn’t go home until late at night. Dad got angry a couple of times. I tried telling you that he was worried about you, but you just cursed at him and locked yourself in your room.

I remember when Gabe hit you for the first time. He used to be so sweet, but he changed. I talked to Bernie, Gabe’s blue fox friend. Bernie had become invisible to Gabe too. He told me that Gabe's father was a violent man. I hoped that you felt my trunk on your shoulder, whispering that you’ll get through this as you tried to hide the bruises with makeup. 

You were only 15 when you were rushed to the hospital to have your stomach pumped. I held your hand with my trunk until your dad came. He had no idea what had happened because he was working at the convenience store. Dad never touched alcohol again.   

The next few months were the hardest. We had to move again, this time in a studio apartment with paint peeling off the walls. You started skipping school and staying in bed. Then, when you would get the kitchen knife, I hugged you and closed my eyes because I couldn't bear to look. I just kept begging, pleading for you to stop.

You wrote dark things in your journal, such terrible things…I tried telling you that none of this was your fault. I hoped that you could feel me, snuggled up beside you, as you picked at the wounds on your arms.

Then, one day, you stole a bottle of pills from the pharmacy and wrote a letter… I was so scared, Em! I was up on the sink, my feet on your chest, your beautiful face so close to mine.

“Please don’t go Em! Please, don’t...”

Then, you looked at your reflection, and a tear rolled down your cheek. I wiped it away. You flushed the pills down the toilet, and I kept saying I loved you. When dad came home, he found your letter and you both broke down into each other’s arms, and I did too.

We missed mom. We missed her so much.

I never left your side. I was with you on those lonely nights in that cold studio apartment, as you lost yourself in your books and your studies. You should have seen the look on your face when you opened the acceptance letter not long after. I wasn’t sure if you could see me, but I was doing back flips and shouting with joy, just like I did for your birthdays. Those never failed to make you laugh.

You still had some struggles in the years to come. You found Spencer, a good man, and both of you struggled financially for a long time. The arrival of baby Sydney was an unexpected gift, and I did the best I could to keep her company at the babysitter’s house, while you and Spencer were away at work. We played so much together! 

Things got better, but slowly. We learned how to appreciate what we had. We took simple walks through the park, as a family. You learned to paint, and you sold your pastels at the local market on Saturday mornings. Remember when that man offered you $500 for a painting you were selling for $100? More back flips! 

The day dad died was hard, but you celebrated his life as best you could. You painted the most wonderful portrait of him, and it sold for 3000$ at the auction to help pay for the funeral.  

I still don’t understand cancer all that well, why it happens to so many people, or why it happens in a family. It came for you so fast, like mom. But this time, something was different. You were calm, and you kept laughing and smiling. This brought me so much joy, seeing you smile like that.

I'm wondering if the beeping of the machine in the hospital room is driving you as crazy as it's driving me. Sydney and Spencer come by to visit a lot. When Sydney took your hand and placed it on her belly, I blew out the biggest trumpet I’ve ever trumped! You stayed strong until baby Heather was born, and you got to touch her soft hands.

That was a few nights ago. I don’t know how I know, but I think this is goodbye. Your breaths shorten and the beeping starts slowing down, and I put my trunk in your hand and squeeze. You squeeze back, then you open your eyes and look right at me.

“Take care of Heather, Elly.” you whisper to me.

“I will.”

I do a backflip and you smile. I stay by your side until you gracefully slip away.