"Real and Imaginary"

“Billy!” came the call from the kitchen. “Billy, sweetie, what do you want for lunch?”

“I don’t know, mom, hold on!” Billy shouted back. “Tommy, what do you think we should tell mom we want?”

Not expecting the question to be given to me, I thought about it for a little while. Billy's mom was quite the cook, and most anything she made was delicious. It was tough to choose. “I guess I'd like a grilled cheese sandwich.”

“That’s a great idea. Mom! Me and Tommy both want grilled cheese!”

“Oh, and a glass of milk would be great, too,” I added.

“Yeah, and we’d both like a glass of milk, too!”

“Okay, Billy, I'll get you and Tommy a grilled cheese sandwich,” she replied in an exasperated tone. For some reason, she always seemed disappointed, even irritable, whenever I played with Billy. Often times, she just ignored me. I usually countered by ignoring her back. She did make some great food, though, and all was forgiven by me for that. She was always very generous, despite being depressed.

As I was thinking about this, I could hear Billy's mom talking. I decided to stop playing and listen in for a second; it wasn't like her to talk to herself. I looked through the door and saw her on the telephone, our sandwiches on the skillet.

“Yes, I'd like to schedule an appointment… his name is Billy Thompson… age eight... yes, with Tommy again… next week? All right. That will work. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and turned back to our sandwiches.

“Hey, Tommy, aren't you gonna play cars?” Billy asked from behind me, interrupting my inquisitive thoughts.

“Yeah, of course!” I said, turning around from the door.

“Great! Hey, let's play Demolition Derby!” Demolition Derby was a game in which we each tried to wreck the other's car, usually by using tracks directed at each other to get the vehicle up to ramming speed. It was always fun, though no real destruction took place.

“Okay, but I get first picks on the car!”

As I turned around to choose the car I wanted, my arm slightly bumped the lamp on the end table next to the door – well, it wasn’t so much a slight bump; it was more of a hard jolt. The lamp came crashing to the ground, shattering on impact. The noise instantly alerted Billy's mom, who came running into the room. After surveying the room for all possible damage, she turned to Billy.

“Billy, honey, what have I told you about being careful around this lamp? It's very fragile, or at least it was…”

“But mom, it wasn't me! Tommy knocked it over with his arm!”

“It's true, I --”

“Billy, you have got to stop blaming ‘Tommy’ for everything you do! ‘Tommy’ wasn't the one who knocked over the lamp! You need to start taking responsibility for your own actions!”

With that, she started to clean up the mess. Billy and I decided that it would be better if we went and played in the basement. That way, Billy's mom could clean up and not have to worry about us getting in the way. She could also calm down faster, too, it seemed, when we weren't in the same room. We proceeded with the Demolition Derby as planned.

I chose an old-fashioned red Barchetta, both for the fact that it had that classic look and that the axles on it were usually better than those of the other toy cars Billy had. He ended up choosing the much newer Godstreak. That was always his favorite car, mostly because it tended to be a lot more durable. It really didn't matter; we were just pretending to crash the cars, but it didn't seem to matter to him. We played until the sandwiches were ready. After we ate, we commenced playing. I kept claiming that I had won, but Billy disagreed.

Nothing much unusual happened for about a week after that. Mostly us playing cars, or occasionally playing outside. The next week, however, Billy and I were playing cars again when his mom came in. “Billy, you have an appointment today at the doctor. Come on, get ready, we have to leave soon.”

“Can Tommy come? I always get bored in the waiting room without Tommy.”

She sighed. “I guess ‘Tommy’ can come along. Just hurry up and get ready.” She seemed really irritated at me - more so than usual. This wasn't like her. Billy got ready to go as fast as he could, and we got to the doctor's office in a few minutes. It was just down the street from us. Once inside, Billy's mom went over to the counter for what she called “co-pay,” while Billy and I went over to the toys in the waiting area. This doctor always had neat toys; there were Legos and other such building materials, which we usually spent most of the time playing with, but the most interesting to me was a large wire frame on a table. This frame had different colored beads on it that would go down the different wires to the other side. It was neat to see the way the beads moved with the different shapes of wire, which is why I liked it so much. I wasn't the only one, either; by the time we got to the doctor, there was usually another kid playing with it. I didn't mind watching it, though.

“Billy Thompson,” called the lady behind the counter after a while. “Doctor Taylor will see you now.”

I wondered why exactly Billy had a doctor's appointment. He wasn't sick, and I was sure his check-up had been only last month. Perhaps this was just another, I thought. It was a different doctor's office than the one Billy usually went to. I remembered him coming here once before, and they gave him pills so he wouldn't be so hyper.

It was a good hour at least before Billy came back. I wasn't allowed to go with him; something about “confidentiality” or the like. I grew bored rather quickly, but there wasn't much I could do about it. When Billy finally came back, I was glad we could finally go home. I could barely contain my happiness from getting out of that place.

“Hey, Billy, when we get back home, do you want to play cars some more?” He didn't answer. Actually, he wasn't even looking at me. Perhaps he didn't hear me, I thought as we got in the car. “What do you want to do when we get home, Billy?” He still looked away. I decided that maybe it was best to just wait until we got home. Perhaps the doctor's office had been boring for him, too. Or maybe he couldn't decide. Yes, that could be it. So I waited until we got back in and situated before I asked again.

“Billy, what do you want to do now?” He turned to look at me, finally, but he had tears in his eyes.

“Tommy, the doctor said that I should ignore you, and that no one else could see you because you aren't… real.” With that, he ran off faster than I could catch up, eyes drenched and barely breathing. I found it hard to breathe myself. Not real? That cannot be! If I were just a figment of Billy's imagination, shouldn't I cease to exist if he ignored me? Yet, here I was, thinking to myself.

I realized that this, perhaps, could be a nullification of the argument. I was thinking. I was sentient. Surely, this fact would prove that I existed to anyone. An imaginary being could not think to themself; it would be too difficult for the imagination to conceive. I had to be real. There were no explanations otherwise. I went to Billy to cheer him up and tell him the good news.

“The doctor said you’d say that,” said Billy through gasps for breath after I had explained everything. “He said you would try to explain yourself as real, and that I should ignore you, so just go away!” He immediately buried his head in his pillow, thus mostly drowning out obvious sobs. It made me want to cry, to see him like this. If he really didn't want to see me anymore, then he wouldn't have to, I thought. I went over to the closet and hid amongst things scattered about on the floor. There, I wept for hours, even when I heard Billy leave to go eat. I cried myself to sleep; I wasn’t awake long enough to hear Billy come back.

For many years after, I lay in that small closet, hoping that Billy would want me back. Every time he opened the door, I secretly prayed it was for me. Every time the door closed, a thousand worlds died within my heart. Every night, I cried a little more.

Eventually, Billy moved out of the house. I went with him, though I'm sure he didn't notice or care. I really don’t know why I went along, I didn’t care either. I had become callous at this point. I was just there. I no longer expected Billy, or Will, as he now called himself, to accept me back into his life. He appeared to have forgotten me completely.

He moved to a large city to attend the local college. His studies were strenuous, and he kept long hours. I wished he would get some rest, but one cannot rest with Will’s ambition, and he wouldn’t listen to me even if I had suggested it. He was determined to graduate, and it had taken a physical toll on him.

One day his sophomore year, there was a knock on the door. Will had gotten a single dorm, so a roommate was out of the question. He worked too hard to have made friends yet, so there was rarely anyone at the door. “Who is it?” There wasn’t an answer. “Ugh, stupid neighbors. Some people actually have homework here.” He walked over and opened the door to see if he could find the source of the interruption.

The man on the outside thrust the door open the rest of the way, knocking Will against the floor. Though the light was behind him, part of the intruder's silhouette was obviously a gun. Will was noticeably frightened; I had never seen him shiver like that.

“What do you want? I don't have much of anything; I'm only a student --”

“I’ll just browse for now, thank you.” He slammed the door behind him.

Will reached ever so slowly towards the phone. The intruder noticed the none-too-subtle movement. He pointed the gun at Will and cocked the barrel. “Don't go and do anything stupid, now. I wouldn’t want to have to kill you.”

So Will instead decided to make a run for it. I was on the bed, which was close to the door. The man didn't like that movement, either. The trigger was pulled.

I acted without thinking. I jumped from the bed as soon as I saw the intruder turn around and came between him and Will. I could feel the bullet pass through my body, but it didn’t do any damage. It instead came out my back and hit Will in the chest. In that split second afterwards, I could barely think. The bullet had done nothing to me. I really wasn’t real.

Billy fell to the floor, bleeding profusely. As I watched the scene play out in front of me, I felt a deep grief, a terrible anxiety rise within me. The man ran out the door, afraid one of the other tenants might have called the police after hearing a gunshot. In obvious pain, Billy lifted his head to look at me.

“Tommy, I'm so sorry I doubted you.”

“But Billy,” I said between gasps, “I’m imaginary! The bullet didn't hit me at all, though it should have. I'm the one who should be apologizing for ever interfering with your life.”

“It’s true, you are a product of my mind, but as I watched the bullet fly at me, I wished that you would stay on the bed. Instead, you threw yourself in front of me, to try and save my life. It was entirely your decision.” I should have been going away, Billy was obviously losing any ability to grasp anything with his mind. I felt nothing of the sort. It was as though his mind no longer had a hold on my existence. “You were the only friend I ever had. I’m so, so sorry I never spoke to you since that… day…”

He collapsed. I was left kneeling there, trying to cradle him in non-existent arms, mourning for my best friend ever.