My Imaginary Friend | l.t au

4:Overprotective

Everything started to change after that.  My mom became more strict, if that was even possible.  She started to consider homeschooling me to 'make sure that I get taught right' or whatever, but because of her job as a nurse all day, she wouldn't have time in her schedule to teach me.  She keeps trying to get me to start thinking of what I want to do with my life after I graduate college.  She's going to make me grow up too fast, and I don't think I'll like the outcome if she succeeds.  

The hate I have for her is starting to fade away, being replaced with confusion.  I just don't understand her.  She says she just wants what's best for me, just like any mother.  I get it, I really do, but she could at least give me a little more freedom.  She tells me to make friends, but freaks out whenever I want to innvite them over.  I'm pretty sure that if you looked up the word 'hypocrite' in the dictionary, there would be a huge picture of my mom.

Years go by, and it seems like each year she gets more strict and cranky.  I don't understand why she's like this.  I don't get what makes her obsessed with focusing on my future at early ages.  I don't comprehend why she has to make sure that I am protected all the time.  Or why growing up is so important.  I get that she wants me to be successful in life -- I mean, doesn't every parent want that for their child? -- but this is a little too far. She didn't only act this way when friends are involved, but also with boys.  

.

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3 years after Wendy's parents separated...

I woke up from my sweet dream of my childhood imaginary friend.   I'm not sure why I mostly dream about him, since he was only my imaginary friend until I was ten.  Throught the years, I apparently imagined him age ( for some reason, I made him a year older than me). It's like my subconcious just hasn't let go of him, even after six whole years.  Six. That's an extremely long time, right? So why do I find it hard to let go of this childish dream? He's just some boy I made up one night when I was little, at least that was what my parents told me when I got older, like twelve years old.  

I picked up my little journal that I keep, and began to draw yet another picture.  This time I depicted Peter Pan and Wendy.  My mom used to read the book to me at night when I was younger, but when I learned how to read for myself, I didn't need her for that.  It's also my favorite Disney movie.  The scene I sketched was the scene where Wendy leans in to kiss Peter.  I always found that scene funny, especially when Tink pulls Wendy's hair, jealous.  

But as I was drawing, I subconciously made Peter's face look like the boy in my recurring dreams, and Wendy's face as mine.  I knit my eyebrows together in confusion.  Why the hell did I do that?! He's just a stupid boy that's not even real.  I'd like to say that he was a fictional character, to make myself seem sane, but he's not even that.  He's just some boy my younger self pretended existed.

I closed the book, suddenly not in the artistic mood anymore.  I went to see what my mother had made me this time.

"Oh, hello sweetie!" the woman chirped as she saw me approach, making me wince at how cheery she was being so early in the morning.

"God, mom," I groaned, perturbed. "How can you be so...happy in the morning?"

She shrugged.  "Guess I'm just a morning person."

"Yeah, I can see that," I muttered.

"What was that?"

"Oh, nothing," I said with a fake smile.  Breakfast continued quietly, the only sound was the silverware against the dishes when we were trying to pick up food to eat.