The first time she saw me was a chilly October night, her eighth birthday. She was sitting on the floor of her bedroom, her tiny arms wrapped around her chest as if to imitate affection from someone else. I could tell from the way she stared at the floor that she was waiting, listening desperately for the sound of the garage opening and for her father to come home.

It was her eighth birthday, and she had spent the day alone.

I settled quietly next to her, placing my hand gently on her shoulder. I had sat with this girl before. Her mother was gone, her father worked late, she had very few friends on account of her shy nature. The perfect combination for a girl who spent a lot of time sitting with Loneliness.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, a single tear sliding down her smooth cheeks. She was so young. I slowly reached out a hand and made the motion of brushing the tear away. Although I couldn't truly touch anything, sometimes it made me feel better to pretend.

But then...she looked up.

She looked at me.

At me.

I froze. It was impossible. No one ever saw me or my siblings, they merely imitated us without even knowing it. She couldn't possibly be looking at me.

"Are you an angel?"

That simple question. That simple, innocent question that changed everything. My heart constricted in a way I wasn't quite familiar with. I had no concept of how to speak to someone. I had never been spoken to.

"Well? Are you?" Her voice cracked a little, betraying the hurt she was desperately trying to cover up.

I had to say something. "N-no. I'm not."

"Who are you, then? You weren't here a second ago."
I wasn't sure what to say. There was so much to explain, most of it too complicated for an eight-year-old. So I said the only thing I could think to say.

"I am the spirit of Loneliness."

Perhaps it wasn't quite the truth, but it was something she could understand.

"Oh." She sniffed, rubbing her eyes. "Hi, I guess. Are you here because I'm alone?"

I smiled weakly. "I always am."

She looked up at me, her eyes wide with wonder and a touch of confusion. I was always amazed at how humans managed to imitate many of my siblings at the same time.

"I'm alone a lot."

"I know."

"My dad is never around."

"I know."

"I'm not good at making friends."

"I know."

She took this in with a moment of quiet contemplation. Then she nodded. "I guess you would know. If you're here every time I feel lonely, you must be here a lot."

My heart broke a little with those words. "Yes."

A soft silence fell between us. Neither of us had much practice with conversation. But in my experience, there are two kinds of silences between people. The first is the gaping hole that stretches wide enough to swallow both people whole, a void that Anxiety, Discomfort, and Tension rush to fill. The second kind of silence was what we were experiencing, the comforting lull of noise, a sort of peace that the troubles of the world couldn't permeate.

"I don't want to be lonely anymore!" she blurted. She shut her eyes tightly. "The world is scary. I want friends. I want my dad. I want to not be so afraid."

I nodded slowly. "I understand."

"Oh, wait." Her eyes snapped open. "Is that rude? Is that like saying I never want to see you again?"

I chuckled softly. "No, it's not rude. The luckiest people in the world are the people I've never met."

"Oh."

I sighed. "Listen to me. Try talking to your dad tonight, okay? And maybe at school on Monday, ask someone for help on a question. Compliment someone's shoes. Just little things. You may not believe me when I say this, but everyone feels lonely from time to time. And you just might be the person to help chase me away." I smiled. "You know the girl in your class, Alicia? Start with her. She needs a friend right now."

The girl took a deep breath. "Okay."

Just then, the rumble of the garage door started up. The girl gasped. "Dad's home!"

I smiled sadly. "That's my cue to leave. But just remember...you're never really alone."

She stood up to run downstairs and greet her father. I began to fade away. But I said one more thing before I was gone.

"Happy birthday."

~~~

I saw the girl a few times after that moment, but she never saw me again. I was okay with that. As much as I wanted to watched my one friend grow up, I knew she would be better off without me.

But that changed one chilly day in late October, the day after her 102nd birthday.

She lay in a small bed, breathing slowly, a rattle in her chest. I sat beside her. Her husband had died years ago, her children and grandchildren all grown up, her great-grandchildren in their school days. They had all come yesterday to celebrate her birthday. I hadn't been there, of course.

I slowly reached out and took hold of her frail hand.

Then she turned her head slowly and looked at me. "Hello, old friend."

I was shocked. Then I smiled. "Why, hello."

She smiled sadly. "I'm afraid this is the end for me. But I'm glad I got to see you one last time. I want to thank you for helping me all those decades ago."

I frowned. "What do you mean, this is the end?" Despair started building in my chest. "No. No, this isn't right."

"I'm ready," she said calmly. "This world doesn't have much more need for an old woman like me."

"This isn't right!" I exclaimed. My hands began shaking in distress. "I shouldn't be here. Not now. You should be surrounded by friends and loved ones." I squeezed my eyes shut. "I don't want to be here! It's wrong!"

"My family was here yesterday," she said, oddly at peace. "And I don't want them seeing this."

"No," I said, on the verge of tears. "No!"

"It's okay," she said softly. She looked upwards and closed her eyes. "And don't get angry with yourself. After all," she lightly squeezed my hand,

"...I am not alone."

And then her hand went limp.

~~~~

Inspired by my new friend SarcasmAndCynicism who wrote the most beautiful piece about the personification of loneliness.

~Margot