Status: two shot.
Imaginary
part two.
When I was five, I had an imaginary friend named Rick. He was 15 inches high, dusty brown, and a bear.
It’s twelve in the afternoon, and a little girl with a face as sad as the sea and hands shaky as wind is sitting alone at a table decorated with paint and fingerprints. She is surrounded by other small tables, all filled with children her age, laughing and chattering. Her features are focused, eyes barely blinking. She is drawing a picture of her family. In this image, there are only two people: herself, and her father. In the distance, there is what could be thought a woman watching the two, tears making way down her face. But only maybe, if you knew what to look for through all the scribble the little girl has made, if you can see past the stick figures and wobbly house.
Keeping the little girl company is a stuffed bear, small and worn out, sitting in the tiny chair next to her. If she is asked about the acquirement of her friend, she will only say it was a present. What she leaves out is that it is the last thing her mother ever gave her, the little girl’s last connection to her long gone mommy.
The little girl also doesn’t say that sometimes, when she is having a bad day, her companion Rick will talk to her, keep her company. She doesn’t say he’s her only friend. Ever since that fateful morning, she has become withdrawn, speaking as little as possible and hiding away in pictures and story books. Her daddy has resorted to almost the same, throwing himself into his work. Their nights are filled with silence and careful love.
This little girl doesn’t say it, but Rick is the only person in her life who makes sense. They can play together, and he won’t judge her. She can tell him anything, from her feelings on her mother’s disappearance from her life to her daddy’s distance and sorrow, and he won’t judge her.
Sometimes Rick gives her advice. He tells her to talk to the little boy in her class with eyes brown and warm. He tells her to spend more time with her daddy, to try harder, that Daddy needs her just as much as she needs him, that he still loves her so, so much. He just doesn’t know how to tell her.
Rick says give everyone a chance, not everyone will leave you, not like your mother.
After months and months and months, maybe even years, the little girl starts to believe him. She talks to that little boy, and they become close, close, close. She knows he won’t leave her, not willingly. She tells her daddy she loves him more than anything, that mommy leaving wasn’t his fault. Her daddy stops working so much, and the nights are filled with laughter and love, with forgiveness.
After months and months and months, maybe even years, the little girl starts trusting again.
She doesn’t see Rick anymore.
Rick wasn’t real, but sometimes I feel like he was more alive than anyone else I knew. No one will ever replace him in my heart. I can’t say for sure, but I think he saved my life. He will always be my best friend, and I know it’s foolish, but sometimes I wish I could repay him.
It’s twelve in the afternoon, and a little girl with a face as sad as the sea and hands shaky as wind is sitting alone at a table decorated with paint and fingerprints. She is surrounded by other small tables, all filled with children her age, laughing and chattering. Her features are focused, eyes barely blinking. She is drawing a picture of her family. In this image, there are only two people: herself, and her father. In the distance, there is what could be thought a woman watching the two, tears making way down her face. But only maybe, if you knew what to look for through all the scribble the little girl has made, if you can see past the stick figures and wobbly house.
Keeping the little girl company is a stuffed bear, small and worn out, sitting in the tiny chair next to her. If she is asked about the acquirement of her friend, she will only say it was a present. What she leaves out is that it is the last thing her mother ever gave her, the little girl’s last connection to her long gone mommy.
The little girl also doesn’t say that sometimes, when she is having a bad day, her companion Rick will talk to her, keep her company. She doesn’t say he’s her only friend. Ever since that fateful morning, she has become withdrawn, speaking as little as possible and hiding away in pictures and story books. Her daddy has resorted to almost the same, throwing himself into his work. Their nights are filled with silence and careful love.
This little girl doesn’t say it, but Rick is the only person in her life who makes sense. They can play together, and he won’t judge her. She can tell him anything, from her feelings on her mother’s disappearance from her life to her daddy’s distance and sorrow, and he won’t judge her.
Sometimes Rick gives her advice. He tells her to talk to the little boy in her class with eyes brown and warm. He tells her to spend more time with her daddy, to try harder, that Daddy needs her just as much as she needs him, that he still loves her so, so much. He just doesn’t know how to tell her.
Rick says give everyone a chance, not everyone will leave you, not like your mother.
After months and months and months, maybe even years, the little girl starts to believe him. She talks to that little boy, and they become close, close, close. She knows he won’t leave her, not willingly. She tells her daddy she loves him more than anything, that mommy leaving wasn’t his fault. Her daddy stops working so much, and the nights are filled with laughter and love, with forgiveness.
After months and months and months, maybe even years, the little girl starts trusting again.
She doesn’t see Rick anymore.
Rick wasn’t real, but sometimes I feel like he was more alive than anyone else I knew. No one will ever replace him in my heart. I can’t say for sure, but I think he saved my life. He will always be my best friend, and I know it’s foolish, but sometimes I wish I could repay him.
♠ ♠ ♠
Word count;; 565.