You may think sharing a bed with an imaginary friend would be a great thing. Ya, at times it is, don’t me wrong, of course it is. Nights can be long, nights can be lonely and he can be – hell, he is, great company. That is until he gets cranky and demanding. Whining like a dog about how unfair it is that he is the imaginary one. That I should be. That he was here first. It can go on for hours.
Why we argue like this, I just do not know. For years, we got on so well. Sharing our little secrets, hatching our plans, and ya, of course, bemoaning our lot and putting the world to right. I think it all changed the day I brought Julie home. I made the fatal mistake of ignoring him. Locking him in the bedroom with the light out was not a good idea. I spent the night running back and forth from the room, speaking in whispers, pleading with him to stay put, to stay quiet. Julie was nice about it all. She was a caring girl and patient with me. When she asked about who he was and I told her, I thought she was a little jealous to begin with. But it was the way she looked at me, searching in my eyes that told me she wasn’t jealous at all. It was just she did not like him. And I couldn’t blame her.
We didn’t sleep that night. We shouted and screamed. I left the house at 4 and did not return until the sun had come up. Turning the key quietly in the lock, I sensed he was there, behind the door waiting for me. And he was. He said nothing. Looked at me, with his head slightly titled to the side. His eyebrows raised, making his eyes look like speech bubbles which I had no trouble filling in. Sorry, I said. And that was it. A smile came to his face as his eyes softened. We slept right through to the afternoon.
I’ll go out with you in future, he said. We’ll go out together, he said.
Go out? I said. Out of the house? Together?
Ya! he said. We will, ya. OK?
OK. I said. But you have never been outside before.
I know, he said. We have never been outside before.