Imaginary Things

by Andrea Lochen

  My chest tightened with emotion. As extravagant as it was—drinking champagne on a Tuesday night—just having Duffy there to share the news with, someone who had as much a vested interest in my son as me, was incredibly meaningful. I remembered last September, when David had gotten his first run in T-ball, and we’d come home from the game, totally jazzed up, with no one to share our excitement. Stacy and her kids had been out, my other friends my age didn’t have kids and weren’t the slightest bit interested in T-ball, and who else was there nearby to celebrate with? I’d ended up ordering a pizza for the two of us, and we’d eaten it in the living room on paper plates. I’d let David stay up until eleven, when he’d finally fallen asleep on the couch still in his dirty uniform.

  I started to speak, and Duffy hushed me. “I know it’s not Harvard, it’s only kindergarten, but I’m really proud of Davey. The Jennings don’t produce dumb kids. I mean, look at you! Bright as can be, with talent to spare. I can only imagine how well you would’ve done in high school if you only would’ve tried. It’s no wonder Davey is so good at drawing with two artists for parents…” She trailed off as Patrick, and whatever else David might stand to inherit from him, floated between us.

  “Well, thank you,” I said quickly and took a swallow of champagne. “I’m really happy for him too; I just want to get all this nightmare business sorted out, and then I’ll be ready to celebrate.”

  Duffy glugged back her glass. “I understand. You want him to be happy and healthy in all parts of his life.”

  I did, more than anything, and it seemed incongruous that she and Miss Hanna could be so convinced of David’s success and well-being right now, while I was frantically scheduling an appointment for him to be mentally evaluated. Who was right? The experienced mother and grandmother? The kindergarten teacher who’d studied children’s learning and development in college? Or me, the bumbling mother who believed she could see her child’s imaginary friends? I knew who a jury would believe, but I also knew my son.

  I twirled the champagne glass in my fingers by the stem and turned to watch David, who had given up on his frisbee and was now singing The Farmer in the Dell in a loud, off-key voice to King Rex and Weeple. They were standing loosely in a circle, so it was hard to determine who was the farmer, who was the wife, and who was the child. He looked so relaxed and confident playing with his dinosaurs that I wished they could effectively scare the panther away once and for all. But King Rex and Weeple didn’t seem to be a match for the roaring, rumbling panther under the bed since he’d ceased to be an ethereal black mist.

  The color was draining away from the backyard as the sun dipped behind the trees. It was nearing David’s bedtime, and I was dreading it. I didn’t think I could survive another night on the couch, worrying that either David or I would wake up with the panther’s ghostly green eyes studying us, ready to pounce. The champagne was compounding my sleepiness, and I wondered if I had finally built up enough of a sleep debt, that regardless of all my apprehensions, I would somehow drop into a deep and dreamless sleep tonight.

  I sipped the bubbly, sweet liquid and rubbed my arms vigorously in an effort to wake up. Jamie’s backyard was empty, but I could see a light on in what I now knew was their kitchen. Were Jamie and his mom eating a late dinner? Or was Jamie alone, scrubbing pots and pans, loading the dishwasher, peering out the window? Could he see David in his bright blue, long-sleeved T-shirt? Was he thinking about me? My eyes watered, and I let out an involuntary yawn.

  “That looked like a pretty heavy conversation you two were having last night,” Duffy said, nodding toward the Presswoods’ house. Of course, she’d peeked out the screen door at us. When I’d sent David in and hadn’t followed quickly behind with her laundry, she’d probably wondered what was holding me up. “Is everything alright?”

  “Not really,” I said, trying to keep my tone light and easy, as if I were about to tell a really good joke, but my voice cracked. “We broke up.”

  She arched one of her perfectly plucked eyebrows. “You broke up? Whatever for?”

  I wasn’t looking forward to a repeat performance of what had happened at La Frontera. I didn’t want to admit to her that I’d found painkillers in Jamie’s medicine cabinet; I didn’t want to re-experience with her the same feelings of betrayal and self-righteousness that I had already cycled through. I didn’t want to listen to her verdict when I finally told her Jamie’s version of events, and I really didn’t want to try to explain my black muddle of emotions and the stoic way he had reacted, like he’d been preparing for me to break his heart all along. You can only afford to like me when it’s convenient for you. I didn’t want to, but I knew I needed to, so I took a deep cleansing breath and I let it all out.

  To her credit, my grandma didn’t interrupt me once. She didn’t gasp dramatically or make murmuring sounds of disapproval. She sat very still, her bright eyes leaving my face only every so often to monitor David playing. By the time I was finished, the first stars were peeking through the gauzy fabric of the sky and David and his dinosaurs were three silhouettes prowling and playing in the murkiness. I stopped talking, and a profound silence fell over the backyard.

  “It sounds to me like maybe you’re both a little scared,” Duffy said, tapping her copper-colored fingernails on the table. “Jamie feels like you’re abandoning him again like you did in high school. Maybe a part of him thinks you’re even right to do this and he’s not good enough for you now because of his history with drug addiction.”

  “I’m sure he’d appreciate the psychoanalysis,” I said wryly. I made a face and hugged Winston’s ratty sweatshirt around me.

  “I’ll send him my bill tomorrow,” she quipped. “Seriously though, it’s not called ‘falling in love’ for no reason. It’s scary! It’s like jumping out of a plane with no parachute. Or bungee-jumping without your cord attached. Or hang-gliding with only one wing.”

  “I get the picture. But in case you’ve forgotten, I’ve done that once already, and it didn’t work out so hot.”

  “Of course I remember.” She set her champagne flute on the table and leaned back in her chair. “It’s clear that you’re scared now to trust another man with your heart. You’re worried that something that seems so good will likely blow up in your face like it did with Patrick. That you can’t trust your instincts anymore, and you need to be doubly skeptical of everyone because of David.”

  Startled by her shrewd observation, I met my grandma’s eyes. They were hazel, like my mom’s, but crinkled up mischievously, and they seemed capable of seeing into my heart where all my secret worries and fears were hidden.

  “I know a little something about fear, honey,” she said with a tired sigh. “I know what a relief it feels like to give into it at first. It’s not hard to persuade yourself that you’re doing the right thing—that you’re making the smart, safe decision.”

  I pressed my spine into the back of the chair and hugged my knees to my chest. I had never heard my grandmother talk so candidly about her anxiety before.

  “But fear is insidious,” she said, smoothing her hair back. It looked more white than blond in the dusky light. “It takes anything you’re willing to give it, the parts of your life you don’t mind cutting out, but when you’re not looking, it takes anything else it damn well pleases too. I started out persuading myself it was just the highway traffic I wanted to avoid, the parallel parking on busy streets, the pushy crowds. But now, a decade later, I find myself looking up and realizing I’m virtually on an island. I’ve given up so much, and it may be too late for me to dramatically change course now, but it’s not too late for you, Anna.”

  “But Duffy, if you want help, then—”

  She cut me off with a resolute shake of her head. “This isn’t an intervention for me, dear. Forgive me—I know I’m being a terrible hypocrite—but I don’t want you to miss out on living your life and following your dreams. You’re much too young to be so scared and jaded. You need to learn how to trust people again and
follow your instincts.”

  “But how do I do that?” I asked, feeling like the world kept proving me right that it was a scary, hardhearted place. My mom had started the lesson, Patrick had continued it, and lately, even David’s imagination was conspiring against me. There were so many things to be afraid of—some real, some imagined—and it seemed impossible to know the difference until it was too late.

  “You need to be brave,” Duffy said simply. “The only thing more powerful than your fear is having a reason worth abandoning it. In my case, one of the only times I was able to leave Salsburg was for someone I really loved—you—that night I came to pick you up in Milwaukee. And in your case, Jamie is your reason, because someone that perfect for you doesn’t come along every day. You need to give him another chance because not enough young men today have his integrity and steadfastness. Winston and I have been watching him with you and David, and we like what we see. You already look like a family.”

  We both thoughtfully considered the shadowy shape of David flitting around the garden like some kind of woodland sprite. I remembered the way Jamie and I had chased each other in this very same expanse of deep, velvety green as children, capturing fireflies in canning jars, demanding they release their magic and grant us wishes. The way afterwards, dog-tired from our running around, we lay in the grass together like a human pinwheel with our heads together and our legs pointed out.

  “I thought that once too, before this whole fallout with his mom’s pills,” I confided. “But I don’t know if he wants to be with me anymore. I might have hurt his feelings too much. He thinks I don’t believe in him and that I view him as just the boy next door, a diversion when I’m living here.”

  “Well, then you need to set the record straight and tell him how you really feel.” Duffy leaned forward and put one hand on either side of my face. “Anna, you are so loving, so beautiful, and so resilient.” She stroked my hair, as if I were still seven years old. “I know you’re capable of great courage. You can do this. You need to do this.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered. “I’ll try.” I looked once more across the lawn to his house. The kitchen had gone dim; maybe the front of the house and the living room were lit up now. I wished I could run across the grass to him right then, pour out the contents of my heart, and let him hold me until I fell asleep in his arms, but I had David to tuck into bed and a panther to contend with. Jamie, unfortunately, would have to wait for one more day.

  I stood up, exhaustion seeping into every fiber of my being. “David! It’s time to go inside and get ready for bed.”

  His dinosaurs seemed reluctant to say goodnight to him. They flanked him, showing their loyalty, like buddies sending their friend off to a schoolyard fight they knew he didn’t stand a chance of winning.

  Upstairs, David was somber and calm as he changed into his pajamas and brushed his teeth. He seemed resigned. I listened for the panther’s growling in his bedroom and then mine but didn’t hear anything. Could it be that the phantom panther had given up its terror tactics? I hardly allowed myself to dare to hope that maybe today at recess David had overcome whatever fear it represented.

  “I talked to your teacher, Miss Hanna, today,” I said as he climbed into bed, hoping to distract him from whatever pattern of nighttime fears we’d gotten into. “She said that she thinks you’re a very gifted student and that your drawings are excellent. She wants you to take a special class on Tuesdays and Thursdays where you’ll get to do all kinds of fun things: solve problems, do puzzles, and make creative projects with a few other kids.”

  “Will Maddox and Mason be there?” he asked, rolling onto his side.

  “I don’t know,” I said honestly. “But even if they’re not, you’ll be in class with them most of the time and can still be friends with them. It’s just one hour per week.” I decided to pull out the big guns. “And Miss Hanna said there will be a unit on dinosaurs.”

  Instead of looking gleeful at this prospect, David seemed preoccupied by other thoughts. He nibbled on his thumb. “Does the zoo really have dino-suss?” he asked abruptly.

  “The zoo? I don’t think so. Do you mean the museum?”

  “No, the zoo,” David repeated more loudly, as if I were hard of hearing. “An atomic zibbit.”

  Oh, the animatronic dinosaur exhibit at the zoo! Just the other day, Winston had mentioned to me the special fall exhibit that would be opening; perhaps he had mentioned it to David too. “I guess the zoo does have dinosaurs,” I amended. “But I don’t think you’ll be doing a field trip there with your school, if that’s why you’re asking.”

  “Does the zoo have a train too?”

  “It does,” I said, thinking now this was clearly a thinly-veiled attempt to get me to take him there. “And also, incidentally, a whole bunch of animals. Would you like to go there sometime?”

  But David shook his head briskly as though he were trying to get water out of his ears. “No! I don’t want to go to the zoo.”

  I bit my lip, feeling a flutter of concern in the pit of my stomach. Was his fear of the panther making him nervous about seeing other exotic animals? Why bring up the zoo if he had no interest in going? “Okay, we won’t go,” I said. “Some other time maybe.” I pulled the sheet up to his chin and tucked it under his shoulders. “Your special class is on Tuesdays and Thursdays during recess, so you’ll have to give up recess on those days, but you’ll still get to play. It will just be a different kind of playing indoors.”

  “I won’t have recess tomorrow?” David asked. He didn’t sound as mutinous as I’d expected.

  “Tomorrow is Wednesday, so you’ll still have recess. But on Thursday, the day after tomorrow, you’ll go to your special class for the first time and miss recess.” He closed his eyes. I leaned on the bed and rested my cheek close to his. “I really hope you sleep well tonight, buckaroo. With no bad dreams. Should I look under the bed?”

  David’s pale eyelids wrinkled and creased. “He’s not there. He’s waiting for me at school.”

  I inhaled sharply. So Miss Hanna was right. Something had spooked David at recess today: the panther, just as I had feared. But I needed to confirm my assumptions. “Who’s he, David? Who’s at school waiting for you?”

  He shrugged listlessly. “I don’t know what he wants. He watches me at recess.”

  Sweat prickled my otherwise chilly skin. No wonder he didn’t seem too bummed about giving up recess. “The big black cat?”

  David nodded and slid down the bed a few inches. I ran my fingers through his corn silk hair.

  “You don’t have to be scared,” I whispered. “We’re going to meet with a nice doctor next week and figure this out, okay? But in the meantime, I’m not going to let it hurt you. I’m not going to let anyone ever hurt you. Okay, buckaroo?” Now if only I could find a way to fulfill that promise.

  I glided to my bedroom, so tired I felt like I was already dreaming. I was doing my best to protect my son from the real dangers of the world; how could I protect him from the dangers of his own invention as well? How could I fight something that wasn’t real? I lay down on my bed, still dressed in my jeans and Winston’s sweatshirt. As my muscles sank into the soft mattress, I thought fleetingly about Jamie next door, but he seemed so far away.

  David and I sat in the minivan in the parking lot outside Port Ambrose Elementary. His face was a mask of misery. Even fresh-baked chocolate chocolate-chip muffins hadn’t been enough to cheer him up this morning. Lately, he’d been looking too big for his booster seat, but now he seemed dwarfed by it, and his new red and white sneakers dangled over the edge as if he were only a toddler. King Rex hadn’t accompanied us for the first time, and his absence in his usual spot in the back of the minivan was glaring. But instead of rejoicing that David no longer felt the need to bring King Rex as a security blanket to school, I felt troubled by the T-rex’s sudden time off. Why now when David seemed to need him the most? I remembered Leah Nola’s comment that she wasn’t strong enough to help me any l
onger, that I needed to help myself, and I really wished I understood what was happening in my son’s psyche.

  I’d been planning on personally walking him inside like I’d done on the first day and having a quick chat with Miss Hanna, but now that we were there, I honestly felt like peeling away, calling us both in sick for the day, and heading to the beach or the park. But that would be irresponsible, I rebuked myself, and I would be setting a bad example for David—that it was okay to play hooky from school and that you should run from things you were afraid of. It had been those two reasons, along with my dread of what Duffy would say, that had prevented me from keeping him home in the first place.

  “Time to go in,” I said, trying my best to sound cheerful. “We don’t want you to be late. I need you to remember something for me, okay, David? Something very important. You are a smart, strong, creative boy. Your imagination can’t hurt you if you don’t let it, okay?”

  David gave a slight nod as I unbuckled him from his booster seat and he slid down into my waiting arms. I felt like someone was chiseling away at my heart. Slivers of it were chipping off and crumbling. How could I just leave my baby here, alone and inconsolable, to face whatever horrible thing was waiting for him?

  The kindergarten classroom was in full swing when we arrived, and about twelve other little boys and girls were settling into the tiny communal tables and chairs that were arranged in the center of the room. Two black haired boys with identical devilish grins waved at David, and he waved back and gave them the first smile I’d seen all morning, but he was still hesitant to leave my side.

  “Is that Maddox and Mason?” I asked.

  David nodded. “They’re twins.”

  “Do you want to go say hi to them while I say hi to your teacher?”

  Lindsey Hanna was stationed at the blackboard, drawing shapes in strong, even chalk lines. When I said hello, she jumped back, her ponytail twitching. “Oh, Ms. Jennings. You surprised me. What can I do for you?” She brushed the chalk off her hands, clearly too busy to talk to me right now, but I needed to make myself heard.