This post is the last of a series. If the catchy title brought you here today, please follow the link to this post and read forward.
But I like to hide. To run with no shoes and dig my feet in the dirt and move in and out of the tall stalkies and lie down between the rows. It’s soft and scoopey. It feels like my bed. My crib bed. Not my big-girl bed. It hurts to roll off my big-girl bed. When I lie on my back in the scoopey dirt, I can see through the stalkies all the way to heaven. I think I came from heaven. I can just barely remember it if I try real hard.
I feel wet on my face. Rain, rain, go away. Come a-gain a-no-ther day. Little Andra wants to play. I know if I sing it loud enough, God will hear me and make it stop raining. That’s what I’ll do on my way out of the stalkies………Rain, rain……….hm hmmhmmm……..hm hm-hmmm hm-hmmm-hmmmm hmm……Mommy? Are you there? The stalkies are bigger than me and they go on-and-on-and-on-and-on-and……..MOMMYMOMMYMOMMYMOMMY! I’M LOST! I’m lost-and-dirty-and-wet-and-it’s muddy-and-I can’t see-anything-and-I’m tired-of-walking.
You don’t have to stay here, Andra. We can find the way out of the corn field.
Who ARE you? No little girls live around here. There’s only Robert across the road, but he’s a boy, and sometimes he’s mean. He taught me to pound my fork on the table and scream, “Where’s my supper?” but Mommy got mad when I did it for her.
I’m Ossie, and this is Palola.
Ooooooooh. You have funny names, too. I LIKE funny names. I have a funny name.
You named us.
I did not.
Andra, you did. Don’t you remember? You dreamed up our names just now.
Huh? I’ve never-even-seen you before ever. You’re ugly with your pink hair, and Palola doesn’t even have any hair. You’re both uglies-uglies-uglies. Uglies and you talk funny. Like grown ups. Why do you talk like grown ups?
You decided all that. You made us.
I DID NOT MAKE YOU! DID NOT DID NOT DID NOT!
Okay, your MIND made us. We’re imaginary.
You’re crazy is what you are! I’m telling my Mommy all about the crazy things you say!……..If I ever see my Mommy again. I think I’m going to be lost in the stalkies FOREVER AND EVER AND EVER.
We can find the way out of the corn field. I already told you that, Andra. Two years old, and already a drama queen.
Am not am not am NOT a drama queen!…………..What’s a drama queen?
It’s somebody with a hyperactive imagination who sometimes overreacts to things.
THAT’S NOT ME! TAKE IT BACK! IT SOUNDS BAD!
Andra, your imagination isn’t bad. It’s what you decide to do with it that can get you into trouble. But you made us. We’re your first creations, your first characters, your first children. By giving us a voice, you made us real.
So, I can make lots of you? As many of you as I want? For all time? Hm-hmmm-hmmmmm-hmm-hmmmm-hmm-hmm.
The rain stopped……there’s Mommy! I can’t wait to tell her that I’m going to make imaginary people real when I grow up. They will be the voices people need to hear, and I will give them life.
They will be my children.
All of them.