by Elizabeth Lovatt

(for my best friend) 

Do you remember when we first met? Don’t worry, I don’t either.

So here goes, it went like this:

You standing there small and delicate with your light brown hair falling loose down your back and your big Disney eyes which later would get you cast as the Little Matchstick Girl in our school play. You standing there with your mother’s stubborn chin, determination on your face, ignoring all the other kids and looking only at me.

‘Hello,’ you said, confident, as if it was the easiest thing in the world, as if the first day of nursery was no big deal and making friends wasn’t the making of us. Oh, but it was.

Or maybe it went like this:

Me, hiding behind my mum’s legs, pressing nose and cheek into the nylon rub of her knee, until glancing up – I see…