Every Girl Needs a Best Friend

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: True Confessions  |  House: Booksie Classic
A little girl watches her best friend struggle with cancer.

Submitted: December 01, 2011

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Submitted: December 01, 2011




Every Girl Needs a Best Friend


Every girl needs a best friend. Someone to play games with, pass notes to, and confide in with her deepest secrets; someone to dress up as Rams’ cheerleaders with, so that together, they could put on shows for their parents.  Someone to share memories with, or to just keep memories of.  My memories of cheering, sharing secrets, and doing all the things that little girls do together, are with my best friend, Taylor. 

Growing up in Indianapolis, Taylor and I lived a couple houses down from each other, and were together constantly. We carpooled to and from preschool, in the Rowe’s large minivan. When Mrs. Rowe gave us the cue, we would hurl ourselves into the trunk of the van where we would ride all the way back home, laughing and giggling the entire time. We hung out and played together constantly until on the day of my fifth birthday, when Taylor and her family moved closer to their relatives, in St. Louis. I was upset that my best friend had moved so far away, but my parents reassured me that I would get to write her letters, and occasionally take a trip out to see her.  We maintained our friendship very well, and although I couldn’t run down the street to see her or her family whenever I wanted, I was glad that I still had her as my friend; whether she a couple houses down, or almost 300 miles away.

One day when I was in 3rd grade, I found out that Taylor was sick. I was told she had Leukemia, or a type of cancer, and that it was pretty serious.  I visited her once while she was sick, and yet she was still the same Taylor I knew and loved, just with less hair. She did have blonde wigs that she wore every once and a while but she more embraced the fact that she had short hair; she even asked her older brother to spike it for her. She had the same giant smile, and the same playfulness that I loved to be around, and if I were to pass her on the street, I would never have been able to tell she was dying inside if she hadn’t been losing her hair.

Taylor fought the cancer for a year, and was in remission at one point. In 4th grade the cancer came back, and in 5th grade Taylor’s brother donated his bone marrow so that she could have a bone marrow transplant. The doctors would administer rounds of chemo to kill off all the bad cells, and then they would put her brother’s cells into her, to see if they could help her body out. I wanted to go see my best friend and tell her how brave she was, but my mom didn’t want me visiting her in the hospital.

Walking to the house after coming home from school one day, we walked inside to hear the phone ringing. My mom ran to answer it before it stopped ringing, and for some reason, my brother and I could tell that something was wrong. She had that face that adults get when they’re concerned about something. When I saw a tear trickle down her cheek, I wanted to know what exactly was happening. When she turned around and mouthed to us, “It’s about Taylor,” my heart felt like it had dropped into my stomach. She hung up the phone, and in that soft voice that adults get when they’re about to break the bad news to you, she told my brother and I that Taylor had passed away. My mind, being overpowered by the rock that had now lodged itself into my throat, couldn’t quite think of what to do. All I knew was that I wanted to be strong. My feet started to shuffle one in front of the other, and before I realized that I was moving, they had led me to my room. I sat down and tried to start doing homework, but found it hopeless. The rock in my throat had now enlarged from a pebble to what felt like a brick, and I broke down.

The next day at school, my class was going on a field trip to the Indiana State Museum. I got on the bus with two of my friends, but they had decided to sit together on the bus, and I was forced to sit across from them in a seat by myself. I had never felt more alone. My friends knew what happened, and knew that I was sad, so to make me feel better, they looked up to heaven and started waving. They had never met Taylor before, but for some reason, they could see her there even when I didn’t want to. After that day, we often sat together on the bus, and almost always, all three of us waved to Taylor. She was my best friend, and whether I could see her there or not, I knew she was waving back down at us from the clouds. Whether she was down the street, in St. Louis, or in heaven, Taylor was always the girl I kept and shared memories of. 

© Copyright 2018 Kaitlin Meyer. All rights reserved.

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