A couple of months ago I joined a writer's group. Every once in awhile they give us all an assignment. Last weeks assignment was to write about your imaginary friend as a child, or one you would like to have now. This is what I came up with. What do you think? Could there be a character here?
An imaginary friend is the best
companion you’ll ever have. It’s like having a twin, without having to agonize
over your parents possibly liking them more, or them being prettier, smarter,
or skinnier than you.
My imaginary friend is Rona. She knows every little thing about me. The good, the bad, but still she stays. There’s something comforting for us both
about having someone that knows everything.
She knows my unreasonable fear that someday I’ll find a mouse in my
shoe. I know hers of doors where you can’t see what’s on the other side. We
know the others more serious fears as well.
Her fear is that someday I’ll forget her. What she doesn’t understand is that she’s impossible to
forget.
With fiery hair that goes all the
way down her back even when it’s up in a ponytail, she’s there with me, getting
soaked as we do cartwheels in the rain.
Her dark olive green eyes gleaming from excitement in the moonlight, as
we take each others hand while running straight into the ocean in our clothes,
before we lose the nerve. How she’s the
only person who sings along with me, without music. Our lazy days spent watching Psych, laughing at Shawn and
Gus’ friendship, and how much it parallels with our own. These are the moments I remember most,
when she’s away on her own adventures.
There are few people in this life
that actually make me feel understood.
Rona does this effortlessly.
I’ve often marveled at how she so easily feels like a safe haven. With her,
we’ve passed a social barricade. When
we speak, it is no longer like we are talking to another person, but rather
talking to ourselves. There are no inhibitions, no thoughts left unspoken. Together we can articulate our innermost
thoughts, while knowing our secrets are safe with the other.
She knows that I always stay silent
in fights to avoid saying anything I can’t take back. Whereas she says
everything she wants to say in French.
We both know once I master the language, she’ll have to find a new way
blow off steam.
I never look up what she says, even
though I have a French/English dictionary at my disposal. Some things I know are better left
unknown.
Sometimes I’m hit with the feeling
that it’s unfair to the rest of the world that only I can see her. It’s like having my own personal diamond
mine, filled with diamonds that would put the stars to shame. She doesn’t even know that she’s
beautiful. I want to tell her, but
don’t. Part of her charm, is that she
truly doesn’t even know how she shines.
I had just finished reading Confessions of a Shopaholic when I wrote this. The girl I saw as Rona in my head was a mix of Isla Fisher from the movie adaptation of the book, and someone who was all her own. I thought Rona was going to be blonde, but I couldn't get the image of those long, red locks out of my head. I was really trying to work on showing, rather than just telling. That was my main goal for this piece. I also wanted to create a character relationship that would be believable and find my voice while writing. Being in a writer's group, and hearing a vast variety of other peoples work, really lets you hear how distinctive everyone's writing is. I'd love to hear your thoughts on this piece.
