It is not entirely true that Melissa is perfectly happy all alone, although it does seem that way, the way she hides out in her room most of the time. Even at Christmas time she waited until the general chaos had subsided and opened her presents solitarily. I have wished for her to make a friend for a long time, someone at school she would enjoy and want to be with. There was one sweet little girl in 2nd grade who was making a valiant effort to befriend Melissa, but sadly her family moved away after Christmas. It has always been a struggle to get Melissa to care enough about the other kids her age to even remember their names. She tends to categorize them as "annoying" or "likely to laugh at me" or even "freaks!". This does not win her points in the popularity contest. Although she has never seemed to care much one way or the other, before lately.
This year though, she has started to express new feelings of lonliness. I made arrangements for her to see a counselor, a social worker who has that certain knack for connecting with Melissa. It is astonishing to hear the deep and heartfelt feelings that Melissa shares with Kara as they meet once a week. Upon leaving her office after one of the first few visits, Kara showed me a list Melissa had made of "things I want to do with a friend" that made me cry, and turned my stomach into a raisin-like knot of sorrow. On the list, with little illustrations of Melissa and a "friend" were hopeful ideas like "ride bikes"..."play video games"... "go to mini-golf" ... "go to church"... it makes me hurt to realize that she has no friends, no little My Space clan of texting girlies to go to the mall with. I spent some hours worrying for her, and trying to think of people who would be willing to pose as her "friend" now and then as a favor, people who could tolerate her mercurial temper and odd outbursts, and strange appearance.
Yesterday, she emerged from Kara's room a little bit early. "It was hard for her today" Kara explained, "She says she is really tired." Tired, but smiling, however, and she had something in her hand. My daughter opened her fist to show me a safety pin, adorned with colorful beads. I was instantly transported back to 1983 and similar pins I had traded with my girlfriends out on the playground. I started to get all misty eyed. "I recognize that..." I said to Kara. "I thought you might." she replied softly. To Melissa she said "It's a friendship pin...you can put it on your shoe and when you see it every day you will remember that I am your friend, Melissa." And with that, Melissa stood up and hugged her, and said "Adios, amiga!" "I'll see you next week..." said Kara.
I drove home with a lump in my throat, and Melissa smiled all the way, touching the pin on her shoe.
