Imaginary

Can't We Go Back to Where We Were?

They set aside a room for her, decorated with pink, plastic table covers from the dollar store, pink balloon weights, and a garland strung across the wall with different shades of pink. The walls, however, are gray. It's not a bad combination. The girl doesn't seem to mind it either. She skips around the room, wearing a crown that reads "Birthday Girl" and a sash that matches. Her pink tutu bounces with her as she holds a wand in her hand and a doll in the other.

I'll be leaving soon, I can tell by her changing movements. How she's far less clumsy than she used to be, how her voice has shifted pitch ever so slightly. The energy behind her voice hasn't wavered yet, but the decline will surely accelerate in middle school. At least, that's what I've heard from Sylvie. I don't know whether to believe her or not.

The girl's friends begin to arrive, many of them without imaginary friends trailing behind them. The girl from the playground, Celia, is no longer accompanied by Mia. A few weeks ago, Celia had stopped showing up. Not long before her disappearance, I noticed how faded she looked. Dull. Tired. Is that how we know we're dying? Is that what this growing exhaustion is, sitting in the cavity of my chest?

I eye the exit, standing wide open at the end of the hall. When I step outside, a breeze flits through my hair, the sun kissing my face as I smile. Freedom. I walk square of pavement by square of pavement, block by block, building by building, city by city. All until I reach the point of no return, where the girl no longer can hold my will at the end of a string. Hopefully I can cut it. I pause, taking in my surroundings. For the first time, I stop to smell the flowers. I lay on the ground in the middle of the park, basking in the sunlight and the feeling of peace. Leaves crunch beneath the feet of wildlife, bee's hum in their hives, the songs of birds drift down from the treetops. I stand back up, watching the line in the dirt road ahead of me as it shifts back and forth. It reminds me of the Girl back at the hotel.

My smile returns as I approach, adrenaline consuming me, leaving behind anxiety in its wake. Heels click on the sidewalk behind me and my excitement falls. I turn and face the noise.

"Sylvie."

"You don't know what you're doing, Louisa."

"I think I do, actually."

"Do you, now?" She chuckles. "You have no recollection of your life on Earth, so how could you have even the slightest bit of understanding?" That off feeling fills my chest once more, like it did that day in the park. "You know, despite all your bothersome questions, you never did ask the Girl's name. Never asked about who she was." She begins to pace slowly as she tells the story. "You see, Louisa, my job at the moment is to help people, like you, move on. Rest peacefully. You're dead, a ghost, a mere fragment of your previous soul. Some souls wander, others move on without causing problems. It's the wandering souls we redirect, push them around to a point that'll help soothe their restless souls. That's how they become imaginary friends!"

I take a step back, my head spinning slightly and thoughts tearing my mind apart. "You'll get some closure when the time comes! Those burning questions, they'll answer themselves. Those moments with that feeling, that... off-ness... of your surroundings will make sense. Everything will be fixed and you will be at peace." Exhaustion like I've never felt hangs on my eyelids, tugging them down, down, down...

Memories flow smoothly through my brain. They don't feel like my own. The girl is in them all, growing and shifting as ages pass by. The zoo, seeing the giraffes and babbling about it to her friend the next day. Meeting her best friend, the silly little 'love' confession sitting on a little boy's table and him reading it in front of the class. Her thirteenth birthday, when the rain started falling as she swam in the pool with her friends, laughter filling the air. Her old puppy, the little stub of a tail shaking its entire body when it greets the girl at the door. Memories move faster now, her first date, prom, and homecoming, late night drives for ice cream, weddings of friends and one of her own. A child in a cradle and that child growing and living and...

Then it pauses. She's looking in the mirror now. The reflection looks like... me. It's me. The memories continue, rewinding now that it all makes sense. It flips back when it reaches the beginning, flowing through the memories a third time to really ingrain them in my brain. Again, it stops. In a garden this time. A tree with a tombstone at the base. Just as I had asked.

I have no recollection of death. No lonely or crowded hospital bed, no sudden darkness, just a blank in memory. It's that off, empty feeling again. Like something should be there but isn't. Perhaps my brain blocked them out, the days when that feeling would be more prominent than others. Flaws in this perfectly crafted reality. Is any of it real? Am I truly dead? Is it just a dream? The memories fade and I'm kneeling on the ground, hot tears streaming down my face. My chest aches. I glance up at Sylvie, knowing the pain shows through my gaze from the pitiful look on her face. Her eyes shift to my hands.

They're gone.

I'm fading.

I'm... fading?

Sylvie wraps a blanket over my shoulders, a small pink one with silk on the edges and soft, fluffy fabric in the middle. I'm not sure where she got it, but I remember it. I hold the ends in what's left of my arms and hold it close to my chest. The tears return, slower this time. A sad smile creeps on my face and I look up, mouthing thanks. Sylvie offers a small yet warm smile in return, the first genuine smile I've seen of hers. Maybe this peace isn't so bad...

"I could almost hear you talking

Can't we go back to where we were

To the good old days?"

Sylvie did not have the same love for her job as her father did. She found it tedious and almost morbid, to obsess over dead souls in such a way, to help guide them on. They'd become an almost integral part to society, bringing their troubled selves into random buildings and wreaking random havoc. My father, to keep them occupied (or just to rid of them altogether), came up with a way to misdirect them, to bring them back to childhood and fix their problems. Time travel, but with far more complex aspects.

The souls hadn't been apparent, at first. It came along with traveling back again and again and again. Her father noticed more and more of them as he went back. The souls would follow their past selves or weep outside their past homes, others would huddle in a corner, staring off in the distance with hollow eyes and empty thoughts. The process my father (and his coworker) came up with sends them back, with a wiped memory, to their past, placing them in a spot where their soul would gather enough hope and joy to rest. To have peace at last. The process worked for most. If it didn't, they'd send a soul back through.

He had her temporarily assigned in the Redirection department, maintaining peace among the (mostly) fresh souls and giving them brief and vague descriptions of their tasks. She stands in front of a newly reaped group, recognizing a few faces here and there (which she hopes won't be there the next time, for their sake). A crowd full of faces that were like hers, solemn and ever curious. She hopes they keep their heads down, press their questions to the depths of their mind.

She didn't want a repeat of past events. Her mind flashes back to Louisa, the tears that slipped down her face in her final moments. Tears mixed with sorrow and pain and joy and relief. The fall of the blanket on the concrete when it fell from her faded hands. The feel of it in her own hands as she brushed the rocks off and tucked it into her bag, mentally promising to track down her family.

Sylvie plasters a fake smile on her face as someone hands her a copy of the pamphlet they passed out. "You know what to do."