Imaginary Friend nosleep

I ran a strip of packing tape across the seam of the cardboard box, smoothed it in place, then ducked my head under the bed to check one last time for stray toys.

All clear.

I looked around at my empty room—at the bare shelves, at the tape marks on the walls, at the bits of spiral notebook edges scattered on the floor—and let out a long sigh. I hated moving. Something always got left behind. Last time, it was my comic collection, and the time before that, it was my lucky penny. This time, it would be Jimmy.

Jimmy was my imaginary friend. He had shown up about five months ago, right after we first moved into this building. But I could tell by the way he had been acting lately that he wouldn’t be going with me to the next place.

This came as a real disappointment; in fact, it was the worst news I had gotten since finding out we were moving again. For years, I had been trying to invent an imaginary friend. Lots of kids had them, or so I heard, but not me. My imagination just wasn’t good enough I guess. It wasn’t for a lack of effort; I focused, I concentrated—but for me, thinking up some make-believe person, convincing myself that I could see someone that I knew was not actually there, just never came easy. It never came at all.

Until Jimmy showed up.

I had been at the playground when it happened. Out of the thirteen buildings I was old enough to remember living in, this was the only one that had a playground—another thing I was going to miss when we moved. Mom liked it too; she could see me from the window. Plus, it was surrounded by a chain-link fence, so parents didn’t have to worry about their kids wandering into the street or getting lured into some stranger’s car. Not that there were any kids in our building. Sure, there were babies and toddlers, but nobody that could go unsupervised; nobody my age. It wasn’t so bad. I had the entire playground all to myself. Even though it was nothing fancy, it still had all the main attractions: monkey bars, tall slide, swing set.

The swing set.

Except for the creaking hinges of the swing I was using that day, the playground had been quiet as usual. I laid across the seat on my stomach, riding it like an airplane for a few passes, then stopping every now and then to let my fingers dangle in the rocks below while blood rushed to my head. I dug through the rocks, sorting them into piles of similar sizes as I thought about what it would be like to have a real friend. Someone I could race to the fence or trade baseball cards with or invite to dinner. That’s when I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. When I looked up, I saw a boy sitting in the swing next to me.

Right away, I could tell he was imaginary.

The boy appeared to be about the same age as me: he was the same height, he had the same adolescent facial features—although in a way, he seemed much older. Maybe it was the contrast of his dark hair against his pale skin, or it could have been the way his cheekbones stuck out like his mother didn’t feed him, or it might have been the dark circles under his eyes that made it look like he hadn’t slept in years. I didn’t really care how he looked or how old he was. He was mine—my imaginary friend.

“Hello,” I said. “What’s your name?”

He drew a J in the rocks.

“John?”

He shook his head no.

“Jason?”

He shook his head no again.

“Jimmy?”

His eyes lit up that time.

“Nice to meet you Jimmy,” I said.

Jimmy, I found out, wasn’t much for words, but that turned out not to matter. That day, we walked around the apartment complex for hours, me chatting his ear off and waving happily as neighbors cast funny looks in my direction, him listening attentively, showing the care and concern of a real life friend. My belly swelled with excitement as I thought about how great it was that nobody could see Jimmy but me.

I felt like a superhero.

From that day on, Jimmy and I were practically inseparable. He followed me everywhere. Everywhere except for school, which I didn’t mind. Even though lots of kids have imaginary friends, it’s not something you go bragging about when you don’t have any real ones.

And the basement. I couldn’t get Jimmy to go down to the basement. That was where they kept the coin laundry. Mom sent me down twice a week to bring up clean clothes, and I dreaded it every time. Besides giving me the creeps, this basement was also some sort of super-channel for static buildup. No matter how much I anticipated it, the dryer never failed to deliver a surprising jolt of shock upon even the slightest contact. And if you stayed too long, this eerie little breeze would start to sneak in, bringing an uneasy chill to the room. It rose from the floor, then swam around your skin like a vortex, its force draining the heat from all directions.

Evenings with Jimmy were my favorite. At night, we stayed up late doing all the things that friends do. And when it was time to sleep, Jimmy rested at the foot of my bed; his body glowed in the dark like a nightlight or a hologram.

Even Mom played along with the imaginary friend gig. She was pretty good at it too, especially since I hadn’t told her anything besides Jimmy’s name. She didn’t flinch when I asked if we could have him for dinner, and she always made an extra sandwich for snack time.

Yes, these past five months were the best I ever had. Jimmy was the best friend I ever had.

And now I had to say goodbye.

I pushed the last moving box into the hallway and leaned against the doorway. Jimmy was at the window, staring outside. I walked over and stood next to him. We looked down at the playground. A gust of wind gently pushed the empty swings back and forth.

“Are you sure you can’t come?” I said.

Jimmy nodded.

“But why?”

Jimmy shrugged and looked down at the floor. I could tell he was just as sad as I was. If only my imagination was stronger.

A dish shattered in the kitchen; I went to check it out. Mom was packing up the last of the plates. I found a broom and dustpan and swept up the broken pieces.

Mom patted me on the head.

“You’re going to like our new place,” she said. “Just think—a new school, a new start.”

This wasn’t the first time she had said that, and it didn’t fill me with the excitement that she intended. I went to the refrigerator to hide my face; I was on the verge of crying. I took a long slug of orange juice straight from the carton and swallowed hard, sending the tears back where they came from.

“Can Jimmy and I play outside?”

Mom looked at me and then at Jimmy. She could always guess right where he was.

“That’s fine, but we’ll be leaving in half an hour,” she said.

“Okay,” I called as we ran for the door.

We went to the swing set and sat side-by-side.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said.

Jimmy nodded. A sadness crossed his eyes. Seeing him like this was unbearable; I almost wished I had never made him up in the first place.

Thirty minutes passed in an instant.

A horn honked in the distance.

It was time to leave.

We said our last goodbyes, then walked to the car. Mom was waiting in the driver’s seat, the engine running. I pushed some boxes aside, nestled into the back seat, and faced the rear window. As the car started rolling, I waved for the last time to my imaginary friend.

Mom waved too.

“Bye, Jimmy!” she called out the window.

I turned around sharply and caught her eyes in the rearview mirror. “Thanks, Mom, but you don’t have to play along anymore.”

“What do you mean, honey?” she said.

“You don’t have to pretend like you can see my imaginary friend anymore. It’s kid’s stuff. I’m done with that now.”

“Honey I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” she said, then turned on the radio.

I searched her face for the truth and saw that she meant it. I snapped my head back around and looked out the window just in time to see the outline of Jimmy’s translucent body linger and then fade out completely.

Submitted February 28, 2017 at 10:07PM by cryptkeepersdaughter http://ift.tt/2m9AQlx nosleep