My father is a retired marine, so I have grown accustomed to picking up and relocating quickly and often. I was young when we left Arizona, but my memories always draw back to the one heartbreaking moment of learning my neighbor and best friend Elicia had been diagnosed with a brain tumor. The majority of our friendship was building forts in the desert, carrying buckets of water in vain to fill the moats of our castles, and running through sprinklers to try to prevent heatstroke. But any happy memories are dulled and blurred by the Elicia that died, not the Elicia who lived. At my age I couldn’t fully grasp the idea of the monster inside of Elicia’s skull, I could only witness the physical and mental changes. Within six months she had lost most of her hair, gained 30 pounds, and stared directly through me when I came to visit. Her headaches were debilitating, her anger and depression unmanageable. I left her behind