Day 1 is a letter to my oldest friend, Asa.
It’s been more than twenty-five years since I last saw you. I can’t remember your face. I know you had brown hair, brown eyes and brown skin, just like me. We played together in early school, when we were three. Our favourite game, as I remember it, was filling the dollhouse in the playroom with all the toys and then stomping through it like Godzilla, roaring and biting cars with our teeth. Neither of us liked taking naps so we’d stay awake blinking at each other on our mats. We went to the toilet together - I don’t think we were supposed to but we did anyway - and I always got really envious watching you pee standing up. I stepped on a slug one day when we were playing and it was very squishy and horrid and you scraped it off my foot with a stick, an act for which I will be eternally grateful. You came to my fifth birthday party and wore a paper hat, and you didn’t tell on me when I peeked at Pin-the-Tail-on-the-Donkey and won.
You knew how to be a good friend. Is it instinctive when you’re three, or is it a gift? Either way, I still think of you as one even though I haven’t the faintest idea where you are now.