"Little Girl" - lrh

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She has always been such a sweet little girl, ever since I met her when she was 6. I was only 11, but I still have never seen a girl as pure as her. Her big, pale green eyes would always look up at me and I could see the admiration they held when she saw me.

I was her babysitter. Her mom, Jessica, lived next door to me and she was 24, trying to complete college while still living with her parents and her 6-year-old girl that wore overalls everyday and sparkling, light-up shoes.

"Luke, how old are you?" She asked, taking just a moment to look away from her Barbie to look at me.

"I'm 11. I'll be 12 soon," I said, with pride and a hint of frustration. The thing is, I had a slight crush on both her and her mom. Her mom use to babysit me until she got pregnant. I look at her the same way her daughter looks at me.

I'm too young for her, but too old for her daughter. Funny, isn't it?

Only one of these are viewed as normal. Guess which one.

"Well, I'm gonna be 7," she told me, with a tremendous emphasis on the entire sentence. "but not for awhile. I just turned 6." And her face fell, feeling mine fall as well. No matter what, when Alice was sad, I'd be sad too.

"It's okay," I sat next to her and put an arm around her. "you're gonna grow up and be 12, too. I'll be. . ." I paused, counting on my fingers. "seventeen, or eighteen. I think."

"Why are you older than me?" She pouted, her eyebrows crinkling together in what I assumed was anger or annoyance.

"Because I was born before you," but she didn't like hearing that. She never liked hearing that.

"Well, I wanna be as old as you are!"

"But why would you want to grow up?"

"Because I like you and I don't want to be younger than you," and she hugged me, really tight. I didn't know what to do or say. I couldn't say I liked her too, she'd get false hopes. I couldn't say that I liked her mom, she'd be heartbroken. So, I never said anything, I just hugged her as tight as she hugged me.

It became very weird when she developed a nickname for me. Everyone tried to get her to stop, but she wouldn't. So, by the time I was 17, she was calling me daddy.

"Daddy?" She tugged at my sleeve. If she didn't make some sort of gesture to get my attention, I wouldn't have answered.

"Yes?" I looked down at the 11-year-old, that was hugging a stuffed bunny I won her at the fair the previous summer.

"Why doesn't anyone want me calling you that?" The innocence and sincere questioning in her voice made it hard to be stern with her. What can I say? Watching after her gave me parental instincts I never thought I'd have until I'm like, 30.

"Because, little girl," I picked her up, setting her in my lap. "I'm not your daddy."

"Yes you are; you always take care of me and you're always here with me and Mommy. You're with me more than Mommy is," it was hard to deny her that, when she started noticing Jess disappearing more and more as she worked.

"I know, but I'm still not your dad," I smiled, speaking as gently as I could. Everyone else yells at her, and you can't yell at someone like her. Someone who doesn't understand that the world altars words to be something dirtier than what it originally meant.

"Yes you are," her lip quivered. I panicked. I didn't want to see her cry. So, I just continued to let her call me daddy. She wasn't wrong, that I took care of her and I was always with her since her mom had been working later hours and more days, but for her to think that I was her actual father was beyond me.