The girl is five.
Her parents are in the room, watching her play. She has a doll in each hand. Two dolls. One with red hair and one with yellow hair. They are best friends in the world she made for them. When one jokes, the other laughs, when one laughs, the other jokes about that laugh, and on and on they would go until the girl who controls them cannot laugh anymore. Cannot pretend to laugh anymore. She falls onto her back. Stares up at the ceiling. Where had her sister gone?
She looks up at her father, walks to his feet, squeezes his legs. Reaches up to touch his face. He's too high. She taps him instead and he bends down. She squeezes his nose and he smiles a small smile. She pretends to need a glass of water. He offers to come but she refuses. She's a big girl now, she says. Capable of getting a glass of water. Her mother laughs. Her parents share a look and then the laughter dies and her father sits back in his seat and stares at nothing, and her mother stares at nothing too.
She passes the kitchen, never really wanting to go. She doesn't need a drink. She needs her sister. She needs her friend. Where has she gone? She tiptoes to the stairs. Crawls up on hands and feet, thinks that'll be quieter. Climbs. The stairway curves. Curves some more. Keeps curving and soon enough the girl is dizzy. She stands, halfway to the the top, and walks the rest of the way. She's in a hallway now, empty like how she feels. She finds the door. Not her own door. The door, and she is afraid to knock. A long moment passes, silently. She waits. Raises her hand.
Just do it.
She knocks. Waits. Whispers. Knocks again. Knock, knock, knock. No answer. Repeats what she said, louder this time. And then again, louder. The name bounces off the walls. No answer. The girl wants to cry but crying will make her parents come and they will take her away. She knocks again. Asks a question. And another. Explains why she's there. Finally a sound.
She gasps, steps back. Movement inside. And then a voice.
Go away, Anna.
The girl begins to back away. They're friends, she tells herself. Best friends. Why would her best friend want her to go away? Did she say something wrong? Maybe she didn't hear right. She's dizzy from the stairs. Maybe her brain isn't working.
Or maybe it wasn't her. Maybe something happened to her friend. Her sister. Maybe she hurt her head and she was sick. That's why she's in bed all the time! The girl strikes her forehead with her palm. How could she miss that? Stinker brain, she calls herself. If she was sick, then maybe she forgot. If she forgot that's okay. The girl can make her remember. She'll make her sister laugh and she'll remember. And if she can't remember they'll just be friends again. Brand new friends. And then after that they'll be best friends and then they'll play.
She begins to walk away. Stops herself. Turns. Get better soon, she whispers, and she goes back down. Down stairs that creak, onto marble floors in shoes that clack, into the kitchen where it was silent, and soon she becomes silent too. But now there is a sound. The sound of her beating heart, which crashes against her chest. She gets her water, brings it back to the room where her parents are sitting, staring at nothing. The girl sighs and drinks from her cup. Stops. Looks at it. Half empty or half full? She couldn't say.