She sits in the second row of the sixth grade graduation picture.
Wearing a white dress with pink lace around the sleeves and collar.
Legs perfectly crossed with white hose.
Hair pulled back in a ponytail; glasses falling off her nose.
She hates those glasses, but can't see without them.

Her best friend sits next to her.
The month is June and they both look forward to what
The summer will bring:
Fishing in the bay, body surfing in the ocean,
Swimming in the lagoon behind the summer house.
Catching crabs with a chicken leg tied to a string.
Pulling up the string ever so carefully
So the crabs do not fall off.
But it will be a terribly sad summer.
The best friend will be moving to the summer house for good.
She will surely visit, but it will never be the same again.

She will miss the dogs a lot too...
Sparky and Boots. Boots always sleeps at the foot of her bed
And is always by her side.

Mrs. W., her best friend's mother will be missed the most.
Even the smoke from her cigarettes.
She would stay up late and talk with Mrs. W.
Until she couldn't stay awake any longer.
Sometimes they would play cards,
Or eat late night snacks.
But it was always more fun than her own house
And more fun than her own mother.

Summer turned to Autumn, as it inevitably does.
School started again.
But now the girl in the white dress with the pink
Lace was in Junior High School.
This meant she could wear pants to school;
No more dresses or skirts for her.
No more best friend either.

It was a warm October morning when the phone rang.
Mrs. W. had been in the hospital with the flu.
Everyone gets the flu, no one dies from it anymore she thought.
Mrs. W., her close friend and surrogate mother died
Suddenly and painlessly of the cancer
That was silently growing inside her lungs for years.
Mrs. W. never went to a doctor; didn't believe in them.
The girl wanted to know all the details,
More than most thirteen year olds would ask.
She handed the phone back to her mother.

There would be no funeral, no memorial service.
Mrs. W. didn't believe in those either.

And still she dreams about the magical summers
Spent at the beach house.
Still sees Mrs. W. sitting at the kitchen table
Telling one of her timeless stories with her wry sense of humor.
Did she make them up?
Did it matter?

This thirteen year old girl grew a little more cynical
And pessimistic than most thirteen year olds that Autumn.
She often thinks of the woman she emulates.
She is so much like her...
A tribute to a unique soul and to a wonderful time of her life.