A Version of Emily
Excerpt from an old story.
I woke up and saw her hovering over me. At first, I popped up, covers rolling.
“Relax! Relax!”
“No, that’s okay. I was just taken by surprise. Don’t overreact. Who are you?”
“I am sorrow,” said Emily. “I like that word. I like its sweetness. I like its sadness. I was born a baby sorrow, and now I have grown into quite a lovely, mature sorrow. I don’t mean to give it, and I don’t mean to take it. I am just a bit of sorrow, split off from the world, floating around at my leisure.”
“I’m a little confused. I don’t understand.”
“Not many do. Not many want to. I personally don’t have to.”
Emily had a story, and I wanted to know it. She wouldn’t tell me. We merely ran around school together playing hide-and-go-seek, and she opened doors for me to let me know that there was nobody in the hallway. There were seven doors between me and the bathroom. Seven exactly. I remember someone saying my friends missed me. Lydia. But Emily told me what she said. I already knew that she knew. It was all a big trick, I remember thinking.
Andrew. With those eyes like black melting numbers. And his pinkie half an inch away from me in the room. If I could feel that, what else could I feel? I was so pretty then. The mirror was there. I touched my pointer fingers together gently. Lydia wasn’t at the party. Everyone wanted the drug that was outside. One by one, they all left the room. I remember how the conversation they all had still hung in the air. Neither of us wanted to grab onto some lingering phrase that would reveal us. We needed to talk about something new. But there was nothing to talk about. I couldn’t look.
I remember bothering Emily about her past. Was she a ghost? Or just my imaginary friend? How did she get here? I couldn’t sleep at night for all the questions I had.
She used to write me letters. I still have this one, for reasons you will see.
Dear Jamie,
It’s awfully windy today! The sky wants me to get lost! Ha, ha. But really, I can’t come by. I simply hate floating around without any control like that. So instead, here are some answers, to show you how much you mean to me. I love you, Jamie, you’re beautiful.
The answer is yes. I am your imaginary friend. But only because you are the one that can see me. I am not imaginary—I am a ghost, of course. I think you knew that, deep down, Jamie.
It’s difficult for me to talk about my past, but I trust you. So… here it goes. I’m nervous, but that’s okay.