Friends

There was once a little girl. The little when all the colours seem brighter. Everyone and everything is wondrous. Life isn’t simpler, but our problems are. She lived in a little town called Derby. It was the kind of town where everyone knew everybody. Where there were many houses, but a single family. A town, for better or for worse, connected by a single road.
And this little girl- she was named Anne- had a little friend. A friend closer to her heart than any other. The one who knew all her secrets, her fears, her dreams. The one to command all her love and all her heart.
He was named Joe. Wherever she went, he followed, be it day or night. He was her shadow, quiet but present. And every day, she would tug him along on her adventures to discover the world. And the townspeople would exclaim, “There goes little Anne, and little Joe, together as always, hand in hand.”
Joe was very dear to Anne. But they were friends, and friends fight, even the best of them. And Anne, who was prone to outbursts, didn’t hold her emotions back. She would yell at him, cry, push him, throttle him. And all the while, he would sit smiling idly at her. She would find it infuriating, aggravating, his cocky, mocking smile. She would turn away, arms crossed, mouth upturned in an angry pout. And his smile would transform, from cocky to pleading, imploring. The icy tips of her frown would melt as his smile became irresistible. Loving. She would hug him then and apologise. She would wipe his face and her own and kiss him on the forehead. And he would smile as always, quiet. Accepting.
Of course, she made up with him. Of course, she loved him. If she didn’t love him who will? Nobody ever told her, nobody will ever tell her, because she was little. But she knew that her parents were not Joe’s parents, and Joe didn’t have his own parents. That is why her home was his home. Why all she had was his too. That is why he didn’t respond. He didn’t love her back. He had never been taught to, like Anne had. But Anne knew she would teach him, and he would love her back just as much. One day he would. Till then, God knew, she loved enough for the both of them.
All was well in the quaint little family and the quaint little town. Till the old shopkeeper told her neighbour, “Did you know, little Anne has scarlet fever! Poor girl, stuck in bed all day, and Joe too.” And so they lay beside one another, sweating and shivering and scared. All the while, Anne held Joe’s hand, murmuring thoughts of reassurance. All day, her parents and the doctor had come and gone, worrying, discussing her health. Yet not once had they mentioned Joe. Did they not care that he was sick too? Was he not as sure a part of their world as she? Anne didn’t know, and she couldn’t care; she merely held him close.
What little Anne missed through the fever’s haze was what the doctor said to her parents in the same room, the same day, which made them look at little Joe, very gravely.
A few days passed as was, but Anne hardly knew time. She would give herself to sleep, and time would mischievously creep by, silent and unnoticed. And one night, her condition worsened, as she coughed and tossed, the fever burning high. She was no longer aware of where she was, who was there, the pain much too intense. Too intense for her to catch the grave look the parents shared, before looking at Joe.
Dawn greeted Anne with peace and relief. The fever had gone down, her cheeks bright with colour, not fever. And she was happy for one complete moment till she realised that Joe wasn’t beside her. Terror seized her heart as she yelled for him, voice still raw from sickness.
Her parents rushed to her side, asking if she was alright, if the fever was gone. But Anne would not answer any questions till Joe was returned to her side, and would someone please tell her where he was? The parents held Anne gently and lovingly as they told her how Joe was much too sick to be healed. By any doctor there. He had to be taken away. He had to go, and he couldn’t return. And if she truly loved him, she would understand, won’t she? She would wish him relief, won't she?
Of course, she loved him. But all her love still hadn’t been enough. To keep him next to her forever. Or had her love been too much? Was it because of her that he fell sick, and she got better, but he didn’t?
Little Anne began to cry. She cried for her love. For the boy she couldn’t teach to love. For the friend she had lost.
Little Anne’s hoarse cries echoed through the connected streets of Derby. And for the first time, the townsfolk didn’t know, but could only wonder what made her cry so.
That morning, the garbage man came to clear the local dumpster as usual.
“Aah, that is what made the little girl cry so!” he amused. “No wonder, poor girl”
He cleared the trash, sticking Little Joe in one of the plastic bags, and drove off.