Doni

Shorty feels so tiny in my arms.

I don"t like it when she cries.

It makes me sad.

I don"t want to leave her, but I have no choice.

I wish I could take her with me.

I worry about not being here to keep her safe. Her dad turns into a monster at night and hurts Shorty when no one can hear her scream. I first saw Shorty covered in blue and purple bruises last summer. I shiver at the memory. Mom brought me two Spider Man walkie-talkies last year. I gave the other half to Shorty so she would have a way to contact me whenever she needed me. After we rode our bikes back from the public swimming pool, we watched the fireworks on my roof. I didn't see her for two days after that. Every time I went to her bedroom window, the curtains blocked my view of her room. Even her window was locked.

She never locks it.

I knew something was wrong. I was going crazy not being able to see her. Two days later, she knocked on my bedroom window, whispering through the glass barrier between us.

"Can I come in, Doni?"

When she climbed into my bedroom window using the step stool they kept there, my heart stopped beating. The pain and heartache I felt at that moment caused my lips to tremble, and tears clouded my eyes.

What happened to my girl? Her rosy cheeks were puffy. She had a small cut on her bottom lip and a sliver of a bruise underneath her eye.

I wanted to hit whoever did this to her.

She started to cry when she noticed the look of fury on my face. I pulled her into my arms, but she flinched at my touch. I gently moved her away from me.

"Did I hurt you?" She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her waist.

"Shorty, let me see."

She lifted her Care Bears T-shirt, showing me the outline of a large footprint on her stomach. My heart was beating so hard against my chest I thought it was going to explode. Why would someone do this? I feel protective of her since we first met, and I'm worried about who'd protect her once I was gone.

When we moved next door to Shorty, I was six years old, and she was five. She walked over and sat on my porch step wearing jean overalls with a pink T-shirt and pink jelly sandals. She had the cutest smile, even with one upper tooth missing.

She handed me a Tootsie Pop and said, "Hi. This is for you. You're going to be my new best friend." She said it with confidence, tilting her head to the side with a full-size grin.

Gently taking the Tootsie Pop from her , I gave her a curious look. "Oh, really? How do you know that?"

"Because I gave you—a boy"— pointing her finger at me— "my favorite candy. Now you owe me." An infectious laugh erupted from her, making my tummy flip.

"Oh yeah? And what do I owe you, Shorty?" I asked, giving her a crooked smirk.

"You have to be my best friend now." She sat closer, looking at me with affection.

"Who"s Shorty?" she asked with a bit of pout.

"You are," I said, pointing the Tootsie Pop at her. "That"s the name I picked for you. Do you like it?"

She leaned back until her back hit the wood post and stared at me with as if she was reading my mind. Her dark chocolate brown eyes sparkled when the sun shined on the left side of her face, the tiny freckles on her nose.

"I like it a lot." She scooted closer to me, cupping my face with her small sticky hands. "And I like you, Doni. We are going to be the best of friends. I am going to take care of you, ok? Because that's what friends do"

She cast her spell on me that day with her dark chocolate brown eyes and her warm touch.

"Doni? Who's Doni?" I teased.

"You are, silly!" She laughed as she jumped off the step to stand in front of me, swaying side to side, sucking on her Tootsie Pop.

"I like you too." My heart leaped in my chest when she smiled at me, proudly displaying her one missing tooth. Unwrapping the lollipop and sticking it in my mouth, I asked Shorty, "So, how many licks do you think it will take to get to the middle of the Tootsie Pop?"

Shorty"s warm, soft hands resting on my cheeks brings me back to the present. "Shorty," I say, my voice trembling, "who did this to you? Who hurt you?"

She pulls her shirt down, eyes glued to the carpet. "Daddy." She sucks in a breath. "Daddy hurt me."

"Why?"

She lets out a tiny sob from her little body. "Because the yellow stuff Dad drinks makes him angry." Hiccup. "He hit Mommy too when she told him to stop." She turns to face me with tears flooding her eyes. "D-dad was so mean, Doni"— hiccup— "he was n-not my da-daddy. He hurt me so bad. I"m so scared.." She sniffles and lets out another hiccup.

I can't breathe. I can't think straight. All I can do is pull Shorty close to me and hold her, trying to comfort her, never wanting to let go.

"I don"t want to go back"— sniffle— "can I stay here?" she asks with her face buried against my chest. "I don"t want to die, Doni." An uncontrollable sob breaks out from her as her little body trembles in my arms.

Those words stab me deep in my heart. Holding back my tears, I whisper in her ear, "Shh… it"s going to be ok, Shorty. I"m here now. I'll keep you safe." I caress rub her back while she sobs in my arms.

"What am I going to do when you le-leave me? Please don"t leave me." She sniffs between words.

I wish I could take her with me, but Mom said her parents would miss her if we did that. Mom said we could pick her up to go to the zoo for my tenth birthday on Halloween, and she can sleepover that night after my birthday party. But that's months away. She's going to be all alone at school. Who will walk with her to the bus stop in the mornings? Who's going to sit with her at lunchtime? Who"s going to push her on the swing set during recess? Who"s going to hold her hand when she wants to walk to the corner store for her Tootsie Pops?

A single painful tear runs down my cheek. Her dad won"t let her come see me. I"m never going to see Shorty again, am I? It"s not fair. She is my best friend in the whole world. How can I leave knowing I will never hear her infectious laugh again? Nothing is going to get in my way of seeing her. I'll save enough quarters from my paper route and take the bus if I have to.

"We're going to see each other again. I promise, Shorty. And we're going to talk all the time on the phone," I say, wiping the tears from my face, still holding her tightly against my chest.

"I want to keep you, Shorty," I whisper in her ear with a playful smile. "Keep you in my pocket."

She giggles. The tensions from her body fades away as I hold her close to me.

"Can you sing me the song?" she asks in a soft tone, giving me one tight squeeze.

"Yeah, Shorty, I can."

I grab hold of Shorty"s hand and lead her toward my bed. I sing to her whenever she needs a reminder that she is my special girl. I pull her onto my lap and sit on top of the blue comforter. My legs stretch out and I lean back against the headboard. Shorty wraps her small, frail arms around my waist and rests her head on my chest. Cradling her in my arms like a little baby, I hum the tune to "My Girl" while playing with her curls that looks like curly fries. Eventually Shorty's breathing slows down as her body relaxes against mine. I will do whatever it takes to bring my girl peace, comfort, and a sliver of hope—even if it"s only for a short time.

Ever since the first time Shorty's father hurt her, my heart broke into a million pieces. At least a few nights a week, I would comfort Shorty whenever a new bruise appeared on her body. On the nights he would hurt her, she would use the strength she had left to send me a secret message through our walkie-talkies—a sign to sneak into her bedroom when it was safe. We laid together wrapped in blankets on the floor of her bedroom closet. Our secret word was Sandlot, my favorite movie that we watched countless times. I had to make sure she was safe.