A mixture of vanilla milk and peaches, I’m reminded of her whenever I wash my hair. We were sprawled out on a fluffy polka-dotted duvet, our eyes fixed on her bright red Nintendo 3DS. Well, only one of her eyes was on the screen. The other was covered by a green (her favorite color), adhesive eyepatch. She was born with a cataract and wore eyepatches to strengthen her eye until she was nine. Cartoon animals moved across the screen of the 3DS. She had wanted to play Mario Bros, but I convinced her to put the veterinary game into the machine instead. I promised her that we would play Mario another day. She used the lavender stylus to cure animal after animal. Her blonde older sister sat across the room, rolling her eyes at every word we said. She was four years older than us and constant- ly felt the need to prove her superiority. At least twenty stuffed animals were scattered across my best friend’s twin sized bed. Her favorite was Bear Bear, a British toy that she got when she was born. Despite the abundance of cozy stuffies, there was only one small, deflated pillow resting against the headboard. Our heads were pressed against one another while we attempted to share it. Although our heads were directly aligned, my toes stretched almost six inches further down the bed. She was small; she had always been small. She looked at me and her long, brown, silky hair blended with mine. That was the first time I smelled the shampoo. The smell of fresh fruit filled my nostrils. At the time, I couldn’t put my finger on which fruit it was. I turned my head and pressed my face into her hair. She giggled and asked me what I was doing. I wanted to get a stronger whiff. Later that night, when I was back home, I made my mom ask for the name of the shampoo. I’ve been using it ever since.

Seven years later, during the summer before freshman year, she was taken to the emergency room. I had been at the same hospital earlier in the summer, so I met her there for moral support. I remember when she was told she needed an IV. Because it was a pediatric emergency room, the nurse demonstrated the insertion process on a bright yellow stuffed duck. At that moment, I longed to be seven years old again, playing with her 3DS on her stuffed animal covered bed. When the nurse put the IV in her arm, she winced; it was her first time getting an IV. Later that night, she was admitted to the hospital and was eventually diagnosed with Aplastic Anemia. After discussion, her doctors ultimately decided that having a bone marrow transplant at the Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia was the best treatment option.

When I got out of the car, I was overwhelmed with the smell of smoke. The air filled with grey clouds as a woman swayed back and forth on her feet and smoked a cigarette. She was standing in front of a sign that read “Ronald McDonald House”. My mom led me to the large glass doors of the building behind the sign. My best friend’s mom was waiting for us inside. She forced a smile, but her eyes looked tired. We took the elevator up to the fourth floor. The apartment was exquisite; bright sunlight streamed through floor to ceiling windows. The beauty was ironic. My best friend was sitting on a grey sectional with her blonde sister’s arm around her shoulder. She was laughing at something her sister said. It was that same giggle, the giggle she let out on the day I smelled the shampoo for the first time. Somehow, even during the worst time of her life, she was smiling. I noticed a short tube coming from her chest. It wasn’t connected to any machine. It was there so the doctors could get things into her body more quickly. I thought back to the day she was dreading being pricked by a needle for her very first IV; now, she was used to the pain. On the side table next to the couch was a small, bright red remote. Next to the remote was a small black box with the letters “Nintendo Switch” written across it. I smiled and spun around to see the television. On the screen, a video game was paused. Mario was frozen in mid air. She picked up the red controller and handed it to me. With a second controller, she added me to the game. I picked my character, Toad, and we proceeded to play. I didn’t break my promise. We did play Mario on another day. Later that night, she and I sprawled out on a thin, blue blanket. This bed wasn’t covered with stuffed animals, but of course Bear Bear was there. Although this full sized bed had multiple thick pillows, we chose to share one. But this time, when she turned to look at me, I didn’t smell fresh fruit; I didn’t smell