By Lexington Rivera

She tells you that you’re perfect and that you’re her best friend. You believe her, of course you do. She tells you what to wear and puts it on with her tiny fingers fumbling with the Velcro. She tells you that today at exactly norealtime’oclock that it’s teatime and you must dress in your fanciest gown. It’s pink and puffy with glittery princess sleeves and matching shoes. You’re never growing bigger, and the dress will never shrink in the wash. She tells you that you’re perfect and that you’re her best friend. You make it outside almost every day of the week. Seeing what she calls rain and hating it because she hates it because it means she can’t wear her tutu. There’s friends and really good friends and best friends even but none as good as you, she says. She holds your tiny hand in between two fingers, and it warms you all the way up the arm. In the winter she takes the time to button your coat even if she has not yet buttoned her own. In the summer you wear matching bathing suits, and she tosses you down the slip and slide. It doesn’t hurt, not when she’s laughing. In the dead of night, she whispers that she is afraid of the girls at school, she says they never want to play. You cannot fathom this, playing is the best part of every day. Do the girls not see her beautiful backpack or ballerina slippers? Don’t they know she’s a princess and an astronaut and that every weekend we are in Siberia and Fiji? Are they jealous because she’s got all her big people teeth for Christmas this year? Poor them, you think. 

 Sometimes you wish to speak. Tell her all the things that you think about. That Mr. Wiggles is a big gossip, and you wish not to sit next to him during teatime. That bath time is actually good because she is a messy eater and gets creamed corn in your hair sometimes during dinner. That the rain is nice when she sits you by a window. You want to tell her that the girls at school, whatever or wherever that is, want to play with her even if they don’t say it. You want to ask her to brush your hair a little gentler, you can’t get any more once this is gone. You want so badly to tell her what to wear for tea and who to sit next to. You want to tell her you know exactly how many freckles she has on her cheeks, that you notice when a new one pops up. You want to tell her that you love her back. You want to tell her she’s perfect and she’s your best friend too.