Molly and me play in my front yard together. And play until he calls her in. Not a nice sort of call my daddy yells to me when it’s time to come in for dinner. We played princesses and fairies and her imagination ran untamed. Until he finds her and calls her in. And her laughter disappears and her face turns pale. She says she has to go.
I wonder why the next day we play she has scratches and bruises like the old tree trunk we used to climb on has broken branches. Some years go by. Years of the same thing over and over again. She says she wants to run away. Get out, leave. I say I will go with her although I don’t fully understand why. She was my best friend. When I say I will go I see the smile I used to emerge from her soft face, but afraid to show, it quickly flees.
Out the door I go late one night. Ready to leave it all behind for her. I sit and wait underneath the old tree trunk. Waiting for her to come. Waiting to leave like she said. I wake up the next morning under the tree. But when I look beside me, I am alone. She was my best friend.