Imaginary Friends For Adults
Creative Ways To Meet “People” In A World Pandemic
My friend and I were texting about how badly we’ve missed seeing friends in person throughout the pandemic, and I got thinking about Johnny––my childhood imaginary friend. I loved Johnny’s company even though he had behavioral issues and did a lot of mischievous stuff. Several times a week I’d make my bed and Johnny would mess it up so badly it would look like I never made it in the first place. One day he even stole my boots and tracked mud through Alice Dawn’s house until her carpet looked like a Jackson Pollock painting. I’m still getting heat for that one. Johnny also spent an entire summer throwing rocks at the faces of every boy on Mahar Street. And on the first day back to school he stole four packets of glitter out of Jenny’s desk. Johnny was a rascal through and through, but one can’t be picky about friends in the middle of a world pandemic, and I desperately need a friend who can’t give me COVID.
The science of why Johnny can’t give COVID is pretty simple: He doesn’t have hands or lungs. Johnny’s never been sick in his life. He couldn’t give me anything except a bad reputation. He could stand right beside me huffing and puffing like Usain Bolt breaking the world record, and my immune system would keep partying. He could even split his Pepsi with me and not a single germ would find its way into my mouth. I know what you’re thinking—if Johnny doesn’t have hands or lungs he certainly doesn’t have a stomach and therefore couldn’t drink Pepsi. But Johnny has a stomach. If he didn’t have a stomach how would he have managed to eat half of Susan’s Halloween candy when she wasn’t looking?
I don’t remember the day Johnny left, or why. I don’t recall if it was sudden––a quick sprint for the door, or if he showed up less and less until he stopped coming around altogether. The last time I saw him was sometime between 2nd and 3rd grade. My 3rd grade teacher was pretty strict and probably wouldn’t have liked him. Maybe I knew that and told him to skip school for the rest of his life. Or maybe I just got happier and happier with my friends who had bodies. My love of basketball was growing after all, and Johnny couldn’t play defense to save his life. But now––now I need a friend who doesn’t have a body.
I went searching for how to make an imaginary friend as an adult and got excited when I read that writers typically have the best luck at such endeavors. “Authors can be seen as prolific creators of imaginary friends in the form of characters.” That was encouraging to read. Could I write myself a friend? What would that friend be like?
Maybe they’d crack jokes over a frying pan and make me laughter omelets. When life drives me bonkers, maybe they’d remind me I’m the one behind the wheel. Whenever we have dinner together, instead of asking for seconds, maybe they’d ask for years. Years and years of time with me. Maybe they’d know I’m a record covered in scratches, and they’d say, “But you’re still so good to dance to.”
Friends, if you were to write a friend right now, what would your friend be like?
Love [ your flesh and body ] friend, Andrea 🖤
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