Caitlin's Best Friends

Caitlin hid behind a large, old, sprawling tree, among its gnarled roots. She was breathing heavily, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to echo in her ears, in her head, in her stomach.

“Hey! Come out! Stupid jellyfish! Where are you hiding?”

No one at school was friends with her, and that awful Victor with his friends had been chasing her for what felt like forever… Caitlin listened carefully. It seemed the voices had faded.How wonderful it would be if Dad were still alive, Caitlin thought. He would have shown Victor and his friends! No one would have been able to hurt her then.

After Caitlin’s father died, she and her mother moved to this small town, into an old house that had belonged to her grandmother. Her mother said that people had been afraid of the grandmother, considering her either mad or perhaps even a witch.

Things didn’t go well at the new school from the very beginning. She was teased, and those who didn’t bully her simply kept their distance and ignored her. Her mother was trying to find a job, so things were not going very well.

She slowly started walking home, limping. She had fallen while running away from the boys, but she couldn’t cry or stop — they would beat her.

It didn’t happen every day, but the girl often had to hide, waiting for her pursuers to finally go home. Not once did anyone come up to her and ask if she was okay. And it never even crossed anyone’s mind to stop those bullies.

Last Tuesday, they had torn her skirt, the one her mom had specially sewn for school.

At home, of course, she’d get in trouble again. Her mom would yell, take away her books and pencils. She would have to hide in the attic again.But the attic wasn’t such a bad place. Dusty old boxes were piled there, filled with things left behind by some distant relatives. There was also a squirrel living in the attic. When Caitlin first discovered her, a year ago in winter, the squirrel was very indignant — she scolded like a sea pirate. Tch-tch-tch-tch… she chattered, trying to chase Caitlin out of her shelter. But soon enough they became friends, and it turned out the squirrel loved oatmeal cookies.

There was also a very soft armchair in the attic, and a small window. Sunlight streamed through it, and in its warm golden beam the dust motes would begin to dance.

Caitlin loved watching that. She would sit in the chair, tuck her legs under herself, and pretend that the dust motes were tiny fairies putting on a performance just for her. Sometimes she would even clap quietly so as not to scare them away.

The squirrel would sometimes sit beside her.

“Caitlin! Caitlin! Come out, wherever you are!”

Her mother’s shout shattered the magic.

“I know you’re up there! Come out!”

Caitlin imagined she was an old lamp , gathering dust in the corner, afraid of nothing, seeing nothing, hearing nothing.

The footsteps faded away.Now it was time to slowly emerge from her hiding place. Mom wasn’t too strict, provided she saw that Caitlin was studying hard and helping to keep the house tidy. Everything would be fine—everything would be fine; she would just slip quietly into the house now. She would hide her scraped knee, and Mom wouldn’t notice a thing.

Sadly, she trudged along the road.

Her heart felt unbearably heavy. And she was so lonely.

No one — no one understood her in this world.

Caitlin stopped, sat down, adjusted her knee socks, and wiped the blood from her knee with the edge of her skirt. She didn’t want to go home at all. She picked up a fallen twig and began drawing little circles and lines in the dirt with its sharp end. Then she broke the twig into three pieces and stuck them into the ground.

“Now you are my friends,” she said.

“You will be Peter, and I will call you Evelyn, and you will be little John,” she said to the shortest one.

“Hello, Caitlin,” said Peter. “I’m so glad to meet you. Let me introduce you — this is my sister Evelyn and our little brother Johnny.”

“Hi, Caitlin,” Evelyn greeted her.

“What a lovely day today. Come with us to play in the park! And afterward we can go to our house — I’m sure Mom has made something delicious.”

Caitlin and her new friends headed to the park. Little Johnny kept falling behind, but Evelyn was a good sister and took him by the hand.When Caitlin was younger, she often dreamed of having a little brother or sister. She would imagine taking the baby for walks, protecting them from mosquitoes, and how much fun they would have playing ball together.

Once, when Caitlin was at a church celebration with her mom and dad, a very funny little toddler came up to her. He had only just learned to walk and seemed eager to explore the whole world on his tiny legs. Caitlin took him by the hand and led him back to his parents. How proud she felt in that moment. She had barely turned seven back then.

But after her father died, those dreams of having a brother or sister disappeared too.

How quickly time flew by. It was so much fun. Peter was full of ideas and eagerly came up with a new game every time.

Caitlin didn’t notice how it got dark.

She looked around — not a soul.

Only the quiet wind rustled the leaves, and somewhere in the distance an old swing creaked.

Caitlin froze.

“Peter?..” she called softly.

“Evelyn? Johnny?..”

There was no answer.

She looked at the ground — where they had been sitting, there were only three small broken sticks stuck into the earth. Uneven, lifeless.

Caitlin slowly sank to her knees beside them.

“But you… were here…” she whispered.

Her throat tightened. Her chest felt empty again, as if all that laughter, warmth, and joy had been a dream that ended too quickly.

She reached out and gently adjusted one of the sticks.

“It’s okay…” she said quietly, as if convincing herself. “You are still my friends.”

On her way home, Caitlin began to make up a story. About a boy named Peter who never gives up. About Evelyn, who always protects the weak. About little Johnny, who is afraid of the dark but keeps going anyway.

And that night, hiding under her blanket, she began to write the story.

As my daughter says, books are your best friends — she never feels lonely.

I wrote another story for you, my daughter — about Caitlin and a twig broken into three pieces