Her fourth birthday we became friends.
My mom had taken me over to meet the family that had just moved in. They had a girl my age that was crying because it was her birthday and she didn’t have anyone to celebrate with. I told her I'd celebrate with her. We danced and played and dressed like the princesses we wanted to be. I remember being so tired after the fun we had that my mom had to carry me to the car. I smiled as she did. I knew that I had made a friend for life.

Her sixth birthday we raced around on our bikes.
We had both just learned how to ride them. We raced down the street loving every second of it. We laughed as we fell scraping our knees. We didn’t care if it hurt as long as we were together and free.

Her eighth birthday we went swimming.
She was always so good at swimming. I went too far to the deep end that day and couldn’t get back to the pool’s edge. She came and saved me. I was crying because I was so happy to have a friend like her. It was then I promised I would save her life one day.

Her tenth birthday we camped out in her backyard.
We both told ghost stories and laughed as we roasted marshmallows. It was the warmest night our small town would see that summer. We stayed up all night just talking and laughing as we made new memories.

Her twelfth birthday we mourned over the loss of her mother.
Her mom was like a second mother to myself. She cursed at her mom for dying on her birthday. I spent almost all night trying to make her smile. But in the end we both cried.

Her fourteenth birthday we talked over the phone.
I had moved only months before. We talked about my new school and new friends. She seemed sad. I told her I would visit every chance I got. I told her to never get lonely. She promised me she wouldn’t.

Her sixteenth birthday we became I.
I got a phone call in the middle of the night. The next morning I flew back to the small town we used to think was our kingdom. I ran down the street we used to laugh and play on. I knocked on the door to the house that now only held a sad man that was no longer a father. He explained between sobs how he discovered her. How when he came home and discovered the note it was too late. How when he ran to her room she smiled and said, “It’s okay, because it’s gonna take away the pain.” How he watched as the pills she had taken took her. I became angry. No, it would not take away the pain. It would just give it to someone else. I glanced at her father. It would not end the bad things. It would only end the chance of the good things ever happening.