From as far as I remember, she was always there. She never ages; she never smiles; she never looks away. A constant of about six foot six, and scarf-styled trench coat, ever looming and present. Wherever I go, watching me are hollow eyes set in a perfect porcelain face. I’ve taken to calling her Sarah.
She was there in the neighbour’s yard, sheer heigh towering over white picket fence, idly watching as I played by myself swinging from the tyre on the tree. I didn’t understand much when I was a kid to be honest, in that I was stupid, so honestly, I was what you would call, unbothered by the whole affair.
My parents, child behaviourists, thought there was something wrong with me when I didn’t outgrow my imaginary friend. I suppose my mom found it much more disturbing that instead of a talking moose, I had a 6 foot 6 mother figure. I fail to see how imagining a spectre of bone white vigil could be a subconscious critique on her motherhood, but women eh?
I guess if little David told me he saw Che Guevera as his imaginary friend well past 6, I’d be a little insecure too though. Mostly pissed at Claire for reading him the entirety of Latin American history when he was in the womb.
I suppose it would be a little off putting for most to have an unknown body, only visible to you, watching over you like a hawk. At least to the few friends and family I tried to explain it to. Even my wife thinks I’m putting up an incredibly long bit. Perhaps you think she’s never always there, and you’d be right to an extent.
She looms in and she looms out.
Every examination season she’s right behind me, so I would feel her breathing up against my neck. Unfortunately, the SAT does not accommodate for ‘anxiety caused by an imaginary lady standing right behind me’. Real non-inclusive of them, honestly.
Other times she maintains more than her recommended social distancing policy. Sometimes out of sight, but never more than around the corner. Something I’m especially grateful for. Imagine getting it on with your girl while having a dynamic version of the Virgin Mary watching you? You’re gonna need more than a little blue pill that’s for sure.
I don’t think she’s actively debilitating. I’ve always been good at being alone as a result, because I’m never really alone. When my mom passed, she was there. Closer than ever, as I listened to my mother’s final words telling me how she loved me more than anything else in the world.
She was there as I cried my voice hoarse, begging to a foreigner’s God, to bring her back. That was when she offered me her hand, and said, in a voice distorted and damned, ‘for a price.’
The only time she was tangible, and the one of two times she’s ever spoken.
The next day, my mom was fine. The doctors called it a miracle. 20 years later, and she’s still kicking.
She positively loves raising David though. Says he’s nothing like me growing up, much more handsome.
They go to the park, and watch the geese.
Sarah was looking at my son, as she raised her arm–impossibly long–to point with bone thin fingers directly at him, as she spoke again,
“The price”