Fifteen.

Night and day were not powerful enough to describe this. Night in the country, where stars pepper the sky, where trees are invisible in the darkness and everything is a constant absence. Day in the city, a big city like New York or Los Angeles, when literally everything moves and all the sound feels heavy and the sun could fry you like a pancake on the sidewalk. Night and day in the most literal, polarizing way. That was Madison Bell at home and at Walmart.

“I have never even seen this one before! You know they stopped making Polly Pocket? I think because the parts are too small and kids keep eating them, but I don’t see why that should ruin it for everyone else.”

I remembered the word I most used to describe Madison and it was surely apt now. Annoying.

“Oh, okay, look at this one. They are more like dolls now, with different clothes. But I remember when I was a kid. I had one that closed up, so you can take it to a friend’s house. Of course, I didn’t really have any friends, so I didn’t take it anywhere. And I don’t have it anymore. Actually, maybe I did take it somewhere, maybe to my grandma’s? Maybe that’s how I lost it.”

But that was the weird thing, maybe. This may have been the most annoying I had ever seen Madison in my ten years of knowing her. This singular moment was the most annoying I expected Madison could ever be. And… well… I wasn’t annoyed. Not at all.

“Buy it,” I told her.

Wow, she got quiet fast.

“What? You want it. So buy it.”

“It’s for kids,” she said flatly, like that was an excuse.

“So?”

“I’m not a kid?” She tried to elaborate but it came out like a question.

“Again, so?” If I was ever so dense, I’d want someone to kill me. “You watch cartoons, and that’s for kids. And I buy Legos still and those are for kids. I play video games with Polly all the time. Aren’t those for kids?”

“Right, but…”

“But it makes you happy. And it reminds you of something you loved when you were younger, something you don’t have anymore. Isn’t that enough?”

She looked at the shelf again, little plastic dolls with their little rubber outfits, and I watched her eyes sparkle with possibility. I wondered if she ever noticed me staring. No, she was far too dense.

“You think it’s alright?” she asked.

“I think it’s alright,” I told her, and walked her to the checkout. She couldn’t take her eyes off the package in her hands. Seriously, she was really…

“Hey, Jamie?” I had never loved my name so much as when I heard it in her voice. She held up her toy for me to see. “Now we both have best friends named Polly.”

She laughed at her joke. That’s all it was, an innocent joke. But maybe it struck a cord in me somewhere, in the place between my stomach and my heart. For some reason, it sounded like the saddest thing I’d ever heard.

“She’ll have to settle for second place,” I said and wrapped my arm around Madison’s shoulder. “I was here first.”

The whole way home, Madison played with her Polly Pocket. I swear, the entire way. She knew the names of the characters and she’d hold up the different outfits for me to see. I told her that I liked the dress with the flowers on it. She dressed Polly up in the flower dress after that.

When we got back to her house, Madison’s dad’s car wasn’t in the driveway anymore. The sun had gone down early as it often does in late January. The clock on my dashboard read 7:03. But if no one was home…

“Can I come in?” I asked.

“Yes,” she said with certainty. “Absolutely!”

The house was quiet and still again; this was a stasis I had grown used to at Madison’s place. I wasn’t sure where her parents were all the time, but Madison had assured me that both her mom and dad were busy people. To me, that seemed like a shitty excuse, but Madison didn’t seem perturbed by their absence. If anything, maybe she preferred it.

“Want to watch a movie?” she asked me.

“Sure, what do you have?”

“Tons of stuff, lemme find something. Have you seen Frozen?”

“Uh, yeah, once.”

“Oh, what about Matilda?”

“Probably when I was younger.”

She paused and pursed her lips, thinking, maybe. Polly Pocket was still in her hands. I had a weird thought…

“Let’s watch Matilda, then,” I told her.

“But you’ve seen it,” she sighed, still lost in thought.

“Forever ago. I don’t remember it.”

I was lying. I did remember it. But it seemed to do the trick.

“Okay, let me get my DVD!” She ran up the stairs and I sat back on the sofa with my arms crossed. This felt like… babysitting.

We were only halfway through the movie when Madison put her head on my shoulder. I didn’t say anything, not right away, but I started to watch her more than the movie. She still had that doll in her hands.

“Madison?”

“Hm?”

“You sort of act like a kid sometimes.”

“I never noticed,” she said flatly, without looking away from the television. But she was close to me, her cheek to my shoulder, her head to my ear. Her hands were tight around her doll and my hands were loose and not around anything. And I can’t really explain it, I really can’t, but for some reason I didn’t believe her.

“You aren’t convincing.”