The days lingered with little to look forward to except the nights when only my dreams are true. At four, I was labeled an orphan with no idea what it meant, but the people around me were content. My brand didn't care I was frightened. Instead I often dreamed my parents would rescue me from the monsters under my bed. Then one day, all my dreams changed.
That morning the room felt uncommonly cold. For months my only friends had been blocks of forlorn yellow, solitary blue and invisible green and they began talking with me again. As I proudly stacked the blocks of wood higher than I had ever done before, the door to the activities room abruptly swung open. A pretty lady with sparkling eyes and a cheerful smile appeared with a petite platinum blonde girl by her side.
The little girl gripped the pale yellow cloth of the woman's dress above her; as if it was the last thing she would ever touch. I knew what was about to happen, I had witnessed far too much. I wanted to help, but feared leaving the safety of suddenly silent, little wooden blocks wouldn't help matters much.
After her flailing, screaming and tears retreated, short breaths of sucking air and a sniffling nose emerged. Comforting women with various opinion consoled the little girl's sad event, but with little effect.
She was the prettiest girl I had ever seen and a feeling of calm rushed through me. Then I wondered; 'how could it be, a girl like a dream, could enter me so easily?' Her name was Cindy and the moment I saw her I became her best friend, but she didn't know it yet.
Cindy, I thought, simply needed a friend. On that day in kindergarten, I, Carol Montgomery, a lonely ward of the state, and fearful of ugly monsters creeping under my bed, became Cindy's best friend, forever.
After a few weeks we had built a stronger bond. There were times she amazed me with her touch. Her skin was cool and so white and pure I wanted to be like her in so many ways but I knew I never would.
I liked my mane of wavy hair and often played with it, but Cindy loved it and would gently run it through her fingers like strands of blackened silk. My first gift to Cindy was my raven black mane. In that moment her sky blue eyes became mirrors of purity straight from Heaven and were never the same.
Six days later I was adopted and frightened I'd never again see my dearest friend. The next days were a whirlwind of settling in and my mind and heart were directionless once again. My new parents were over protective and I felt trapped in a world of adults longing to be held in the arms of a tiny platinum blonde girl with a magical touch.
As luck would have it and possibly divine intervention, my new parents decided I could remain in attendance at Martha Ewing's Academy. I was elated, as was Cindy. Her long tender embrace proved she had become a part of me I just could not resist.
Each morning was a celebration of our reunion and our friendship further kindled. Cindy entered our world each day wearing the same clothes and I wondered why she was never troubled. When our eyes made contact we transformed the space with smiles, hugs and giggles not caring the manner of our dress or the portrait of affection painted. We were completely unaware a heartless headmistress with an agenda was watching our every move.
Out of nowhere the simple act of touching Cindy was deemed a sin. Suddenly our friendship became our prison. I never thought holding another girl's hand so evil, but so said a woman the adults called; Miss Gideon.
We soon discovered we could hide our world from those around us. We began slipping away to places in the shadows to simply talk and listen. We'd compare our lives, passions, fears and places we wanted to visit, and did so swiftly to avoid humiliation.
Over the next few weeks our lives were smothered in a hazy mist of scrutiny, until the day I was told I was moving to a place I never knew existed. I ushered Cindy into a backroom closet, closed the door then blurted the news. We were discovered embracing and I never felt so abandoned and abused.
After my new parents were told I had to be closely watched for I fancied little girls I cried in vain while pleading our friendship was real. I screamed out the words for all to hear, "I love her!" I couldn't have imagined how painful the ordeal or how deep and hopeless it made me feel.
Despite our temporary separation, we managed to hang on and by the time we were in elementary school, the only things mattering were our happiness and our special brand of closeness.
Once again the matters of life unfolded in our favor when we discovered our homes were merely blocks away from each other. Walking to my friend's house each time was like a journey to a friendly foreign land. I only feared the edge of the woods near the road to Cindy's house, and I feared the woods with haunting passion.
One day, Cindy's mother suddenly disappeared. I never saw Cindy so lost and bewildered. I didn't know what I was supposed to do or how I was supposed to support her. I could only stand and wonder while holding Cindy's hand if her mother had simply ventured to a friendly foreign land.
While shopping at a grocer with my mother, Cindy abruptly changed. I wondered why she crouched behind a stack of cans hiding from what I couldn't see through. After she revealed she saw her mother kissing another lady, I knew there was something I could do. I decided Cindy needed to discover life from another point of view.
One spring day we were playing on a swing. The air was crisp, the birds were chirping and the sun was warm against the gentle wind of spring. I asked Cindy if she had ever played, kitty in the grass. She looked puzzled, shrugged her shoulders, shook her head then asked, "There's kitties in the grass?"
My conduct might have been far too much for her to comprehend all at once and my words not explicit enough to explain. The feeling of being loved by the wet grass was a harmony I had experienced many times past. I felt Cindy needed to experience the feeling, if not but only once. I couldn't convince my best friend to share my splendor and decided it far too futile to urge her any further.
A few months later, I was walking to Cindy's house to see if she wanted to play with dolls. The path to Cindy's forced me to take vigilant steps with a thumping heart at the edge of the scary woods. With hastened steps I managed to make it to the picket fence in front of Miss Roger's. My fear quickly vanished when the lady's tabby appeared to capture my attention.
