Carcass

Her name was Piper Oakley, and most of the time she smelt like peaches and alcohol and smiled in a way that was irrefutably elusive. Of course, this was now, and that was then. Now was full of memories, countless mistakes and haunting nightmares. Then had been like a breath of fresh air and had tasted just as sweet.

But to start at the beginning; Piper Oakley was a friend. I’d always been told that I’d first met her at the age of two, when my parents had taken me to the hospital to visit a newly born baby; the daughter of their best friends. And there she was – all pink blankets and hospital smell, a baby; Piper Penelope Oakley. Her eyes were squeezed shut and her body was tinged with a warm pink tone and she was tiny, so tiny and vulnerable as she slept. And as much as I struggled to remember it, Mum had always told me that when I first saw her lying in her mother’s arms I had stopped and stared. Of course, she’d always said it to the both of us with a dreamy tone, and Piper would snort with laughter and I’d roll my eyes. Because how could I have known back then that something so delicate and wrinkly could grow to be the most beautiful girl in the world? How did I know, back then, at the age of two, that I would someday love her more than anything in the world?

I didn’t. For all I knew, I’d stopped and stared because I didn’t know what the fuck was going on and why something smaller than my stuffed Elmo toy (and thankfully less hairy) was lying in Mrs Oakley’s arms. For all I knew, I’d stared because I’d never seen anything like it, or maybe because she was wrapped in an atrocious pink blanket that made my eyes hurt. But they’d always told me the same thing: I had stared because I knew that I would love her.

It was stupid. It was laughable. When it was told to us at the age of eight, it was gross. But as the years went on and Piper began to disappear inside herself, it really seemed inevitable. Because if I didn’t love her… no one else would.