Campfire Girls

We were all alone in the days of childhood. Though we laughed and played no one ever knew you lived. From the highest tree to the gentle stream, no one ever knew... only me.

We had a favorite basket to gather pretty stones. A sink was filled with water to wash the dirt away. I would see you yawn and know that you'd be leaving. I would watch the sun set in the direction of your home.

Too young to be a campfire girl, we sneaked away to cry. Seems we were the same age, with the same problem, even though Mom says you don't exist. She says I have to let you go... but where to?

Why? How do I answer that question? I began to live within a dark space. Your light no longer shone. I walk out into the yard and knew I was alone.

My parents changed churches, which caused them to drive by a childrens' orphanage. I saw you sitting behind a great wrought iron fence... it was you! Please stop the car, that's her! Yes I'm quite sure.

For three Sundays we stopped at the orphanage so I could speak to you. I heard my Mom and Dad talking of adoption. Wow, I might soon have a sister! Unfortunately my Dad didn't want to follow through. He even changed the driving route.

One Sunday we rode by, and the sad face I saw was my own reflection in the window's glass. You weren't sitting at the fence. 'Terminal' is not a word a six year old would normally know... but I had a gut feeling which was about to be verified. I was glad my Mom met you... sitting in that tiny wheelchair.

They returned a stuffed bear I'd given you, and a card you left me, which I still have. So any time I light a campfire I look for you to be dancing on the wind; those incredible somersaults that no one else could ever do.

We both dreamed of having a friend... and became the other's dream, fulfilled.