I met Molly when I was in tenth grade. What was she to me exactly? A best friend? A girlfriend? A beautiful companion? Or simply a safety blanket? She was everything, all those things.
If I had to describe Molly in one word, it would be sunshine. Sunshine, like when you step out into the afternoon sunlight, and feel rays resting on your shoulders and face, and feel content. When I was with Molly, everything seemed to come easily, naturally. I found it easy to forgive and forget, and she showed me how to love the people I wanted to hate, like my parents, my sisters, horrible people at school. Days with Molly were like summer, but days without her were winter. I liked to stay home those days without Molly because going through the days without her was hell. The grey walls of my school seemed greyer. My feet dragged against scuffed linoleum floors even more. Days without Molly made me want to die. Molly and I didn’t attend school together, but it was almost like we did, with the amount we talked. I always had my phone in my hands, shaky but sure, ready to contact her. In the bathroom at break. While I had my white-bread, brown paper bag lunch. Moments before a teacher dropped a test on my desk. After I got back the same test – marked with a large, red, failing grade. Molly made those hum-drum moments bearable, but weekends with her were even better. I could see in the glassy eyes of the other clubbers – they were jealous of what I had. I wanted to share Molly, let them feel what I felt every time she smiled at me, but if they hung out with her, would she still always come back to me? I always feared there would never be enough of her to go around.
I never introduced Molly to my parents. It would have been stupid to think they would understand such a complex and euphoric creature as her. They would be scared because they didn’t understand. They would call her bad news, pointing out everything about her that was wrong. Try to make be leave her? Definitely. Succeed? Never.
There would be days where Molly would literally drop off the earth. It would often happen when I would let it slip that I needed space. I had things to do, and that offended her. I always tried to put things off when Molly called – push aside my school work, sports and other friends – and we would just hang out, staring at the beautiful things on my walls. But when I didn’t, when I ran out of time, ran out of money to spend, she would coldly leave. She could be cold. I wouldn’t hear from her for days, and it would drive me ballistic, until I found my car keys in my hand and I would drive to find her. I panicked at the thought of her walking out of the door, finding some other person to brighten up. She was angel and devil. I loved her and I resented her. I wanted her to leave and I wanted her to stay.
After every fight, every spitting, cold argument, we would become inseparable, as most people were after fights. Days would pass, and I would lose track of time, hiding under my covers with Molly.
“Molly,” I whispered, sweaty shaking hands. My breath came out as a gasp, crouched in my dark, dank bedroom, blinds drawn. She liked it darker. No one could see us.
At the centre of my palm, sat a tiny blue tablet, my lovely Molly.