We used to be friends. At least, I thought we were.

The first time I remember seeing him was right after his momma died. Suddenly, there I was, and there he was, just playing with his blocks. He didn’t say anything for a while, and neither did I. We just sat in comfortable silence until he asked me if I wanted to help him build his city, Olliopolis. That started what I thought would be a forever friendship. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

But, for eight years, we were the best of friends, we played everything under the sun. We played pirates, soldiers, robbers, cowboys, superheroes. When pretend games got boring, we played Monopoly, Jenga, Yahtzee, Uno, Mastermind. Sometimes we didn’t play anything, but just talked long into the night. We talked about everything, but mainly he told me all about his school. His favorite teacher was always the one who let him stay inside for recess, and in their classroom for lunch. Ollie didn’t see his loner tendencies as problematic, but everyone else did. But Ollie had me, and I had Ollie.

I never talked about myself until one day.

“Ollie, what’s my name?” We were laying on the couch, exhausted from chasing each other around the house.

“I don’t know. Do you want a name?”

“Well, you have a name. Shouldn’t I?”

“I guess,” he shrugged. “What about Chris?” I felt a tingly sensation deep inside me, a sense of rightness deep within my non existent bones.

“I like that name,” I told him.

And everything was great. For days and days, and weeks and weeks, and months and months, and years and years.

Everything was fine.

And then his papa died.

I’m not sure how.

He never told me.

But I think I know.

I saw him that night. He was sobbing among the blocks we had played with for so many years.

When he saw me, he screamed.

“Where were you?! I needed you. He needed you! Where were you?! Momma-“ he broke off.

Suddenly I remembered a flash of something. A life I once had. I was Christina, but everyone called me Chris. I met a wonderful man, Henry, and had a kid named Ollie. And one day I was gone. But I was still with Ollie. I. Was. Still. With. Ollie.

And then I wasn’t.

He left me.

But he wasn’t alone. He had a new friend named Henry.

I don’t hate him. I never could.

But I do miss him.