y-jess

Our Young Writers

Jessica Edelman

Kylie Boner

The Lake…

by Jessica Edelman (aged 13)

I stand in the garden gazing into the tranquil blue lake. I hear voices of the past, memories of Emily’s childhood dreams and ambitions. I gasp for breath when I remember that it’s lost forever. The lake ripples. One ripple can change everything.
      I remember my first day of primary school as if it were yesterday. I was a misery, hunched in a corner by myself, moaning and weeping silently. Afraid of the wild children scattered all over the playground, I pulled away whenever a teacher tried to comfort me. Then I met Emily – a bright, bubbly and vivacious girl, with red curls and dancing green eyes. She came skipping up to me, and took my hand.
      “Come and play on the swings!” she suggested.
      Unable to refuse, I soon found myself having fun. From that day on, we were inseparable.
      I was never really content with my life. I was shy. I hated talking, and when others tried to talk to me, I looked down at the floor, shuffling my feet and biting my nails nervously. But not with Emily. She was my only loyal friend, the one person I felt at ease with. I told her my deepest secrets and she kept them all.
      When we were teenagers, we went shopping and to the movies together, crying floods of tears in the back row. We’d go to parties, and because no one ever asked either of us to dance, we’d dance together, giving each other dizzy whizzies and having a great time. I remember the days when we’d sit at the back of the classroom, giggling and gossiping. Everyone accepted that wherever I was, Emily was there too.
      It has been exactly one year sine she was diagnosed with cancer. At first it didn’t hit me. Emily used to be a whirlwind of laughter and excitement; her eyes sparkled. She was like the sun, shining light wherever she went. I was the weak one, always catching colds; snivelling, coughing, having stomach aches. Emily was the one comforting me, making me laugh.
      But after that one event, everything was destroyed. Gradually operations and Chemotherapy began to take over her life. I could feel all the pain she was experiencing, as if I was the one with cancer. There were many times when I silently wished I was. She was clever and beautiful, but me, I was dull and plain. I valued her life more than my own.
      Emily told me that seeing other cancer patients in the hospital was like seeing a glimpse of her future in a month, two months, and half a year’s time.
      I visited her constantly, bringing cards, flowers and pictures to brighten up the dull, grey hospital rooms. I brought tapes of our favourite music, and we’d try and forget everything and just sing along to the familiar lyrics. Sitting on the faded bed sheets, I’d tell Emily the usual gossip from school: who asked someone out, who was having a party that weekend. All the time we were trying to fool ourselves but it never worked.
      At night I’d feel jabs of pain in my chest, and I’d lie there, terrified of the future. Things were getting worse. Emily’s gorgeous hair fell out. She was weak, and unable to do all of the things we took for granted, like walk and write. It hurt me to watch as her personality slowly drained out of her.
      Visits became awkward. Emily could no longer have a proper conversation. I’d stand there, talking, and realising that she couldn’t understand me. That confused expression as she mumbled on about nothing. I’d put on a brave face, but as soon as I left the room, I’d cry. Why of all people did this have to happen to Emily? My heart ached.
      Finally, Emily was moved to a hospice. I approached my mother, who was sitting by the wood fire one evening.
      “Is there any hope?” I asked shakily.
      “No luv. I’m sorry. Emily is dying.”
      I had to face it. It was just a matter of time, depending on Emily’s strength. The doctors and nurses were kind and sensitive, holding my hand and attempting to make me feel better. But you could see they didn’t care.
      Last Friday was the worst day of my whole life. I took the day off school, to be with Emily all day, talking to her even though she was in a coma. I remembered someone once telling me that even in a coma, patients can hear you, although they are unable to answer. So I spoke to her. That was the tragic day when I held her hand one last time. I couldn’t make her stay. I had lost my best friend.
      For the rest of my life, there will be an empty space. Nothing will ever be the same. I spent many days of tears and painful grief, before finally accepting that she was gone. I’ll always be wishing she was by my side, and I’ll be thinking of her sparkling eyes and vivacious laugh.
      The only thing I have to reassure me, is that I can gaze into the lake, and all of our memories will be there.

Simon Cox