Sonya
by Julia Buchans

Sonya is my best friend. Well, besides E.B. that is. I always go to Sonya’s house but she never comes to mine. Why is that? I think she hates my parents. Maybe she is afraid of the basement. Our house smells funny sometimes. My dad cooks with fish and garlic. And you can smell the trash for days.

Sonya likes to play games and I play with her. We play and play and play. Sometimes I get tired. I run out of ideas. But she is always awake. We have to change the dirty, poopy dolls Sonya says. We have to watch the orphanage for naughty children! We have to escape from the bad robbers! We whirl the carriage and our babies around the block. We feel sneaky. We feel risky. Tingles up my spine. Past the dark house where the blind man lives with his wife. We are quiet when we pass their house.

I tell Sonya I am hungry and she finds food in the fridge. I am always hungry. And I eat more than she does. She will have one pea and I will have one hundred.

We take our dolls everywhere. The cabbage patch kids, the doll that feels just like a real baby. All heavy and floppy and soft. We take them to the T.V. room and put warm blankets on them while we watch our movies. No talking, we tell the babies. Shhh! We are watching our movies. But Sonya gets bored, so we go outside again. Sonya likes to play tetherball and soccer or four-square. We play tetherball and my arms hurt. She always wins. She has us do routines. Stretches her arms, legs. Puts on Cyndi Lauper. Come on, Julia, she yells. I follow her moves up and down and to the side, side, side and back. I don’t stop but I wish to. I want to crumple but Sonya’s still dancing.

The best days are when I get to spend the night. We stay up late and watch T.V. or we play with our dolls and listen to music. We stay up talking, talking. Sonya talks the most and I just listen. Sonya tells me the boys she likes. I have a crush on Cesar but I don’t tell her. She likes Cesar too. Plus, Cesar would like her more anyways.

We pull up the covers on her bed. It’s big and soft and feels like a water bed. She has the sheets with pink hearts on them and the light blue blanket. She turns off the light and I make sure to say goodnight before I get too sleepy that I forget. Her pillows always smell good and I fall asleep fast.

In the morning I wake up early. Sometimes I just watch her sleep. She doesn’t move at all. It looks like she could be dead, but I erase that thought from my head. Sometimes I wonder why I wake up so early. And then I get mad at myself. When I can’t wait anymore, I start to cry. That wakes her up. She is upset. But she gets up. Slowly. And we trudge down the stairs to find food. Sonya is not hungry. I would like a bowl of cereal, please.

I never want to go home. I have too much fun. I love slumber parties on the weekends. But mom doesn’t like me having too much fun. She says I stay up too late and get tired and cranky the next day. I protest and my face gets all red and puffy. Then mom tells me I have to take a nap. I hate naps. Sonya never has to take naps. You are not Sonya, mom says.

Julia Buchans grew up in Seattle, WA and has spent the past five years in Bellingham . This piece was written for an assignment in a class on “Childhood in the American Society: Memoir and Memory”. She is recently completed an interdisciplinary degree from Fairhaven College in youth empowerment, multi/cross-cultural studies and the arts. She looks forward to continuing her work inspiring young people and has a persistent itch to return to Southern Africa .