My Best Friend in the World
Miriam Reynoldson

JUDGE ENTRY INELIGIBLE

I never told you that when we were eight, I stole your pink sneakers out of your locker at school. I wore them on a rainy day and got mud all over them. After that, I didn’t want them anymore, so I dumped them in the lost property bin. Did you find them again?

I never told you that when we were twelve, I started copying your answers to tests. You wrote big letters and you were such a teacher’s pet. You got them all right. The teachers gave me an Improvement Award.
That’s why I started sitting next to you in class. You thought I wanted to be friends. I thought, hell, why not? You let me wear your clothes. You let me stay over at your place, where your mother cooked fancy meals every night instead of cheap pizza and microwave lasagne. You let me pretend I was staying over at your place. I taught you how to do an impression of my voice over the phone.
“Hey, mum – yeah, just staying the night at Sarah’s. Yeah, I’ll be home tomorrow. Maybe… one o’clock? Her mum invited me to stay for lunch. Okay. Yep. Love you, mum.”
I never invited you out to the clubs with me. I said, “Who’s going to stay home and provide an alibi?” You would never have fit in. And you seemed so nervous about getting a fake ID.
You started helping me out with my homework. I got so frustrated that you ended up just giving me the answers. And once you’d written one essay for me, it wasn’t hard to get you to write another.

If I couldn’t afford something, you’d lend me the cash in a second. So I told you I needed a suit for job interviews. I told you I’d crashed my mother’s car. That’s how I paid for the first two abortions.

Then, of course, you got into university and I didn’t. You moved up to Sydney.
And you met him.
Peter.
You called me every Sunday morning with a new story – this night, he took you to the opera house; that night, some swanky restaurant. Sunday morning! Didn’t you guys ever have a night worth recovering from?

Well, I missed you. Things just weren’t the same after you left. My mum kicked me out and I couldn’t find a real job for a while. Things were pretty rough. I never told you because I didn’t want to upset you, but I had to do some pretty low things to get the money for a room.

And then came that night, that frenzied phone call – you just couldn’t wait til morning to tell your best friend in the world about that dazzling diamond ring on your finger. You were happy. So damn happy.
I left the bar early. Scooped the tip jar empty for cab fare; swiped Barry’s burglar repellent from the box under the cash register. I found P Beringer in a Sydney phone book, and two hours later I found Peter Beringer in his apartment.

Anyway, I took care of him. It was a pretty neat little operation actually. No sound, no mess. I was back home by morning, ready to take your gasping, sobbing call.

So things are better now. You flew down to Melbourne to be with your family for a while. I didn’t realise how much I’d missed you until I saw you at the airport terminal. You were so pale. You gave me a weak smile and I wrapped myself around you – you, my best friend in the world.
It didn’t take long to convince you to move into a flat with me. I said it would probably be best if you weren’t alone.
It’s my fault you left in the first place, Sarah, and I’m so sorry.
I never told you how much I needed you.