The Pillow Friend Read Online Free PDF

magical moment, but her faith was getting a little wobbly.
    She had not meant to keep a secret from her best friend; she had only been waiting until there was something to tell, something to share. She couldn't share her doubts; she was afraid that as soon as she voiced them, they would become the truth, and Myles would become ordinary. Aunt Marjorie would be revealed as just another grown-up who told stories to credulous children—stories Leslie would have been too smart to swallow.
    But now she had to say something. “He
is
special. It's just, it's hard to explain why, he just is. I know he is. I wasn't keeping that a secret from you. It's—it's just—well, there's not that much to tell.”
    “Does he talk to you?”
    “Sometimes.” The lie was out before she had time to think. “Sometimes, late at night, when we're in bed, just before I go to sleep, he'll tell me a story or something.”
    “Neat!” Leslie's blue eyes were round and shining; the faintly freckled skin of her face fairly glowed as she leaned forward, drinking in the story. “Like what, can you tell me one?”
    “Maybe . . . not right now. It's hard to remember all the details, you know, after a few days.”
    “Next time he tells you a story will you tell me?”
    Agnes nodded.
    “Promise.”
    “Yes, I promise. Leslie, I wasn't trying to be mean, or anything, not saying anything before, I just didn't think you were interested.”
    “Well, of course I'm interested! Geeze, Louise! Honestly! Some people's children!” They laughed at the phrase which was their own adaptation of a frequent exclamation of Leslie's mother, and they were close again, closer than before, despite the guilt Agnes felt about her lie, a guilt that was worse for knowing she could never, ever confess it.
    They played happily together for the rest of the afternoon, and when it was time to go home—her mother had called to say that dinner would be on the table in five minutes—Leslie walked her halfway. At the halfway point (which had been instituted at their mothers' insistence, to keep them from walking endlessly back and forth with each other) Leslie asked, “Could I keep him tonight?”
    It was like something cold and hard sticking halfway down her throat, like swallowing a cube of ice. She looked at her friend's eager, pleading, loving face and knew she could not deny her. They had always shared everything. Even Leslie's most valuable possession, the square-cut emerald ring she'd inherited from her grandmother, too large to wear, had been in Agnes' pocket, and her jewelry box, for a day and a night despite the fact that Leslie was strictly forbidden to take it out of the house. Although Myles, too, was valuable, Agnes was under no such prohibition, as her friend knew perfectly well. Selfishness was her only reason for wanting to say no, and selfishness was not allowed between best friends.
    “He probably won't talk to you. He doesn't always talk, and . . .”
    “Oh, I know. That's okay. He's your pillow friend, I wouldn't expect him to talk to me, but can't I borrow him anyway? Just for tonight? Please?”
    Silently, painfully, she handed the doll to her friend, who received him with reverent gentleness. “Oh, thank you. I'll be so, so careful. I'm sure he'll tell you that I was when you see him again tomorrow. Bye-eee!”
    Agnes had thought she would lie awake for a long time that night, and she did. What she had not thought, had not even considered, was how comfortable she was, alone in her bed for the first time in over two months. For once she didn't have to strain to listen, didn't have to examine her own behavior for whatever she might be doing wrong, didn't have to struggle to go on hoping and feel her hopes dashed again. She fell asleep, surprisingly at peace.
     
     
    “He talked to me!”
    Agnes looked at the little doll which Leslie had thrust into her hand and the familiar painted face stared coldly back. They were in Leslie's room, and as soon as Agnes