eddy & the Question of Imaginary Friends
Late night conversations
eddy has his own stand in the bedroom. He spends his days looking out the window onto the back garden, a quiet aluminium-and-magnesium sentinel with titanium-coated wheels & Shimano gears that he insists are aviation quality.
Sometimes Buzz, the Shar Pei, is out there too, scratching frantically for a bone he buried & then forgot, or going completely bosbefok when a motorcycle rumbles past. eddy doesn’t talk much to Buzz. He finds him a bit dof. The dog chases hadedas with great enthusiasm & then ruins it by barking at the last second, giving the birds plenty of warning. And the gardener with that damn lawnmower? Buzz (& eddy) would quite like to see him gone.
Enough about the dog.
Last night I piped up.
“eddy, you still awake?”
“Yebo, Mastelek.”
I told him I’d been reading something on the BBC about imaginary friends and found myself wondering whether I had any.
eddy sounded incredulous. “You have an imaginary friend?”
“You.”
There was a pause.
“I’m not imaginary,” he said. “I’m made from aluminium-magnesium with titanium-coated wheels. My Shimano gears are aviation-quality steel. Tjsek.”
I explained that adults sometimes create imaginary friendships for companionship, intellectual stimulation, motivation, affection, a bit of moral problem-solving, or simply lighthearted relief from the daily grind.
eddy considered this. “Maybe you should try that. It helps with growing & evolving. Gives you the chance to become who you want to be & live that life.”
Good advice, I told him. “Who should I have as an imaginary friend?”
“A Bianchi,” he deadpanned.
The conversation shifted, as they sometimes do late at night. I told him about a friend who’d had seizures. A brain tumour was discovered. I had thought the kindest path might be to stay home & be comfortable for whatever time remained. Instead he had the operation. Now he is sedated & not looking good.
eddy was quiet for a moment. “That is a difficult conversation, Mastelek. I think being incapacitated is soul-wrenching.”
I agreed. I thought of Kath, who left after just a silent scream. In its own way it was a blessing. The alternative would have been worse.
“Good night, old friend.”
Some nights the bike in the corner is just a bike. Other nights he is the only one still awake when the house is quiet, ready to listen, ready to argue about whether he is real, & ready to remind you that even the hardest conversations are better faced with someone, or something, that doesn’t flinch.