Mortem

One

I used to have an imaginary friend.

I'm not exactly sure when I first met her, or when she introduced herself as Lucy, but she was the only friend I had for many years. Her brown hair, darker than my own, seemed to constantly glow with perfection, as did her emerald green eyes. But more than anything, I remember how contagious her smile was, especially when I had just fallen over or something of the sort, sobbing and snot running down my face. She would hug me and tell me everything would be okay, while she stroked my hair. Or the time when I slipped on the icy sidewalk outside and broke my leg, or so she had informed me, while throwing stones at the back door until my dad came out to help me.

So it still puzzles me why I didn't remember the body heat, or lack thereof, that radiated off of everyone's bodies but hers. Or when she'd tell me stories at night, but when I'd say something to her in reply, grandma would scold me for not going to sleep. Then the time where grandma was making breakfast and my dad asked me to set the table, so I got out four sets of everything, one for each of us: my dad, grandma, Lucy, and me. But when he asked why I put out four sets, he was confused and frustrated after I told him it was for Lucy. He sent me to my room after that, while I cried profusely, not understanding what I'd done wrong.

Lucy always grew upset and serious on my birthdays, especially the year when I hosted a party for the first time, but after waiting excitedly by the front door for over an hour after the guests were supposed to arrive, I felt part of my heart crumble and fall apart. Lucy cried, but I didn't. I was too shocked by the fact that she was crying to think about it. I told her it was okay, that at least I had her, but she just sobbed harder into the shoulder of my pink sweater. I guess I should've noticed when there wasn't a wet spot lingering there afterwards, or when no tears ever fell from her eyes, but it didn't occur to me at the time, especially at the age of five.

On the first day of first grade, I was excited and terrified at the same time. At first, Lucy blatantly refused to go with me, but I begged and pleaded with her while on the verge of tears, until she finally gave in and got into the car. My dad buckled me into my booster seat in the back, not even glancing over at Lucy to make sure she was buckled in, which she wasn't, but I stayed quiet. I didn't want her to get in trouble and be unable to come with me like she'd promised. The entire way to the school was spent in silence, although Lucy frequently glanced in my direction, but she may have just been looking out the window.

When we arrived, my dad took us inside, filling out paperwork before getting me situated in my new classroom. Lucy was unusually quiet, and I tugged on her sleeve repeatedly, but she just shook her head and put her finger to her lips. I guess in first grade you're supposed to be quiet, but the other kids weren't as quiet as we were. So I broke off from the other kids and tried to get Lucy to talk to me again, but she just got a sad look on her face, so I kept asking her why she didn't want to talk to me, but right as I saw her mouth open to speak, I felt someone tap me on the shoulder.

"Who are you talking to?" It was a boy, no older than I was, with a round, pudgy face, and what was probably a week old Cheereo stuck to his shirt.

I pointed to where she was, still looking at the boy. "My friend, Lucy."

"What? There's no one there."

I turned around. Lucy was still sitting on the floor, except she was leaned over, crying. Still there were no tears, no sniffling that I realize now, should've been present. Then she said the last words I'd ever hear her say.

"I'm sorry."