It began when I was 6. A neighbour of my grandmother (whose house I spent a considerable amount of time at) had a child. The child, a girl, was called Elizabeth.
I probably shouldn't have been, but by the time she was two (and I nearly ten) I was called to babysit her for short periods of time. Her mother was certainly not everybody’s cup of tea, somewhat egregious and, in the eyes of many, irresponsible – that said, her life was hard, being a single-mother and having to support her daughter while working a drab job. A few years passed, and the babysitting became both more serious – for protracted periods – and enjoyable. Of course we became friends.
As I entered my teens and spent otherwise lonely weekends at my grandmother’s house, she would call upon me (she had since moved slightly farther away to a cheaper house) and we’d play on my computer or some more energetic game, inevitably involving running and hiding, out in the park. She always liked my computer, her mother being unable to afford to buy one of her own.
--
It was when I was 13 that during a blood test, routine for some minor operation she was having, she was found to have HIV and be in the advanced stages of AIDS. The theory was that she had inherited it from her father, with whom the mother had no lasting contact; the mother had, incredibly, managed to avoid infection. All involved were distraught. Being only 6, she barely understood and asked me to explain what was happening and why all the adults were being so nice to her. Though I know few of the details, I put it into words as best I could. She accepted it without question, and hugging me, told me she was scared. I nodded and told her we’d always be friends.