Page 31 of Nineteen Letters
It felt like a lifetime had passed before help finally reached you. They moved everyone back so they could assess you. I sat on a rock a few metres away and buriedmy head in my hands when they placed an oxygen mask over your face. I’d never been so frightened; it took all my strength not to cry. I was petrified I was going to lose you that day.
My body was trembling by the time they lifted you onto a stretcher and rushed you across the sand towards the waiting ambulance. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline, so by the time we arrived at the hospital there was a marked improvement, but it did nothing to ease my worry or stop me from feeling responsible.
The hospital admitted you, and you stayed for several hours for observation. You slept for most of the time. I sat on a chair in the corner, while your parents hovered over your bed. Your father had rushed straight to the hospital when he got word. The worry that was etched on their faces as they watched you made me feel sick in the stomach.
My parents called by to pick me up a few hours later, but I refused to leave. I broke down in my mother’s arms the moment she got there. I’d stayed strong for you for as long as I could, but my mum’s hug was my undoing. She gave the best hugs. After begging them not to take me home, they let me stay. I couldn’t leave you … I just couldn’t.
When you finally woke, the first thing you asked your parents was, “Where’s Braxton?” You have no idea how happy that made me. Even more so when I reached your bedside and saw your face light up.
When you got home, your mum wouldn’t let you leave the house, so we just laid around your place talking and watching television for the next few days.
The twenty-fifth of December 1998. Christmas morning arrived, and I was barely out of bed when you bashed on my front door.
“Merry Christmas, sweet girl,” my mum had said to you as she embraced you in a hug. She always called you that. I think she saw you as the daughter she never had.
“Merry Christmas, Mrs Spencer.”
I was so excited to give you your Christmas present. Usually, we just exchanged handmade cards, but that year I’d made you something special.
The week before, your family had spent a few days at your grandparents’ place. I’d spent that time with my dad, at his hardware store where he helped me make your gift.
“Merry Christmas, Jem,” I said, grabbing the large wrapped gift from under our tree and passing it to you.
“You bought me a present?”
I was beaming when your eyes widened.
“No, I made it,” I replied proudly. My gaze briefly met my father’s across the room, and he winked at me.
As much as I had missed you in those few days you were away, I’d enjoyed my special time with my dad. There was never enough of it. He was such a kind and patient man and I always loved being around him.
I held my breath as you tore into the wrapping paper.
“Braxton,” you whispered as you looked down at the wooden box I’d made you. I’d carved ‘JEM’S TREASURES’ into the lid.
“It’s a box to put your shells in.”
“I love it,” you said, throwing your arms around me and squeezing me tight. “I love it so much.”
When you let go of me, I saw tears brimming in your eyes. I was so pleased you loved your gift. I was so proud of it.
“I only have a card for you,” you said. You looked sad as you passed it to me.
“That’s okay.” I honestly didn’t mind. I loved all the cards you made for me over the years. I still have them. Every single one.
This one had a large green Christmas tree on the front, with colourful balls all over it. MERRY CHRISTMAS was written in multicolour underneath, and the large yellow star on top had way too many points. Drawing stars wasn’t your forte, but I thought it was spectacular. This card will always hold a special meaning to me because that year you wrote something different inside.
To my best friend Braxton,
I love you.
From your best friend Jemma.
You even signed it with three kisses.
Your words far outweighed any gift you could’ve given me. “I love it, Jem. Thank you.”
You smiled when I said that.
