Change

“I don’t like it,” I said.

She nodded and turned to look at the house.

“It’s too big, and it’s creaky, and it’s peeling.” I pointed out the spots on the sides of the big old house. Muddy brown house with gray spots, like a giant chocolate milk cow that got sick.

“And lookit the trees!” I said, mad now. “They’re too little to build anything in! No treehouses or even a tire to swing on.”

She looked up at the spiny branches of the apple trees and then made a sad face at me.

“And I hate the yard,“ I pouted. “There’s no room for tag, and nothing to hide in. There’s not even a swingset!”

She put her arm around me and grinned her best-friend grin.

“I really don’t like the boring old bedroom.” I twirled my ponytail. “You should see it. It’s orange! Horrible pumpkiny orange.”

She squeezed me tight.

“And it’s so lonely,” I whispered to her. “I can’t hear your voice here.”

She let go.

“I miss you,” I said to my memory.