Morning. Luckily, today is Saturday and it's mom's weekend to work, so I'll have until 5:30 when she gets home to do what I want. But what do I want? Perhaps I will make pancakes for breakfast. I don't recall you being able to cook (in a cheery teasing way) pops into my head. "Yeah, you're right" I say. Since we are home alone I can talk to you. A little shiver shiver of pleasure runs down my spine. What are these feelings? "No offense, but sometimes I wish you weren't always watching my entire life and thoughts." I say, getting out cereal. Aww why Cheerios? I hear in my head. "Because they are good." I declare. I feel the sensation of a playful poke, and I am filled with a big plop of happy. "What should we do today?" I say. Movie marathon! Cheers your voice in my head "Sounds good." I say, chuckling. I finish my breakfast, your constant playful poke making me laugh. "Ok. What movie should we start with"...
I snap awake. The credits for the latest movie we watched are playing. Oops. I must have fallen alsleep. Groaning, I stand up. What time is it? I wonder. 4:00 whispers your voice and I smile. I love when you read my thoughts and answer them. Why? What is this? I don't even know who you REALLY are. There's the dreams but... I don't know you could be taking a different form in those. But I can't stop the happiness I get whenever you communicate with me. It's the best and scariest feeling. No. I have to figure out WHAT and WHO you are before... Before anything. Am I just crazy? Maybe you're not really there. I get up. I have to stop thinking about you, because I have to clean up the popcorn crumbs and put actual clothes on before mom gets home. I get the vacuum. I finish in record time, making it look sort of clean, and then go to get dressed. I forgot to change out of my pajamas earlier and mom would have a fit if she knew. Just in time " I'm home!" Mom calls. "Hello mom!" I yell from my bedroom. I clump quickly down the stairs, and wrap her into a hug. "How was your day?" She asks. "Oh just chilling so I mean it was all right." I say cooly. There is now WAY she is knowing I watched TV for that long. "Good, glad to hear it. In a second, we're going to need to have a little conversation... Just let me put this stuff away. " I flashback to when mom said that last. It was summer, and I was 6. This was when mom had explained to me that my father left us before I was even born. She didn't want to, but I was old enough to figure out almost everyone had a daddy, and I kept asking questions. I had been so upset. I'd run to my room crying, wondering why he had left me. Did he even love me? You had been there. You said it's ok and snuggled me and stroked my hair. The flashback ends and I stand there staring at the wall. "Hey! Come on. I'm at the table." Mom calls. I don't want to go to her. I can tell its not good. My body moves, much against my brain's will. I sit down. "Listen sweetie you're not going to like this... " Oh no. No. Not even your gentle hand on my shoulder squeezing is helping. "I don't think it's a good idea for you to have your notebook anymore. " It's like a slap in the face. The only thing I can do is sit there and stare. Nothing will escape my mouth. I can feel you hugging me, trying to comfort me, but I can't even think. My notebook. I write and draw in it and it's the only thing that keeps me sane. I can't let her take it. Ever since that day where I learned about my dad I've had a notebook of some kind. They get me through storm days. Finally noise escapes my mouth. A scream, and then "WHY?!". Mom looks at me for a moment, takes a breath, and finally says, "Because. Your grades are dropping. I e-mailed your teachers and they all said the same thing. You don't pay attention. You either draw or write the whole class, and I'm not ok with that. And yesterday morning before school I told you to pick up your clothes off the floor and you said ok but just kept drawing. It's not healthy. " "But-but... " I stammer. "I'm sorry." Mom says. She gets up and goes to take it off my nightstand. I try to stop her but I'm crying to hard. She goes to her room with my notebook, and I run upstairs and cry on my bed. I feel you rubbing my back and patting my head. I curl up in a ball and let you comfort me, since I obviously can't do anything else. I fall asleep with you holding my hand, the best way possible.
