I'll keep this big guy with me forever
He lied, you know, papa. He told me Clifford would be alright forever and ever. But then ma and dad got old. I grew up a little too slow. The doctor called it a funny condition; says I'm not growing up like the other kids. My parents took me to a lot of doctors, mom mumbling under her breath that my old doctor was a 'fucking joke'. She lied, too. The doctor and mom were physically closer compared to her and dad.
Clifford was my only friend, helping me around and being patient, such a sweet thing. He comforted me, when I cried in bed. He would sit outside and whine softly and it was such a pretty sound that I sometimes leaned out the window and gave him a big kiss on the snout.
Jetta doesn't like me like I like her. She's so pretty with that long mass of black hair. But when I tell her, she calls me gross. Mom says Jetta is a welfare baby, so she can't put herself among others. But she's so pretty.
But now it's crumbling, it's becoming a new age. Mom moved out, drowning in the money of a humble doctor. Dad went from little wine coolers to full brews at night to morning. Daddy's taking Clifford to the clinic, but he's only got a little cold and it's all dandy. All my friends are at college, and I sit here in a care facility. It's funny. When I'm tired from the day, and my eyes close, I see them all in serene innocence. The years pass me by in my memories and I plead, no I beg, to be a little girl again. I'm alone.
The new medicine that the care facility issued me makes me feel funny. It's not right, but I haven't spoken a word in years. They don't notice. I plead again and I beg again, just to make you see that I deserve a redo.
Ma went in a bang; literally. Poured out all her money and then the Doc left her. Dead fell asleep in a hospital, they tell me, but I know he's passed. They like to protect me with softened words but I know.
Jetta visited me. Told me about Charley and such. All the 'how are you's and the 'how you doin, darlin's'. Her eyes are glazed, sunken. She's thin. Sick. She's not a special kind of sick, like me, but I think she's done this to herself. Her sad eyes barely meet mine and she discretely scratches that little patch of dry skin, aching for a fix.
I don't remember from before. I haven't had a visitor in seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months…years. Please, just please, PLEASE let me be a girl again. I've seen the years go by, I've see the years affect my once pale and smooth skin. I haven't experienced life.
Clifford can tell you. Clifford can make you see. See him out my window, stretching by the moonlight and asking me to follow? Clifford, you are such a sweet little puppy. His whining is a pretty sound, soft and carrying through the wind and through the window where my dried and wrinkled hands fix the shawl on my shoulders.
I got to leave today, you know. The nurses were real kind, slowly helping me onto a rolling bed. But my eyes aren't open, because I'm busy playing with Jetta and Charley, watching that big red dog on the horizon.