The town was Green Park, Illinois and the address was 227 Sycamore. The house was a small split-level, the street lonely and rural. In October of 2007, a family of three moved in: a young father, a pregnant mother, and a 3-year-old son. Two months later they moved out. They cut their losses and sold the house at submarket value to a single mother and her son. The mother’s name was Marilyn and her son’s name was Charlie.
***
She closed the door to the empty kitchen pantry and shivered. It was cold in the house and with nothing cooking in the kitchen, the house smelled dank and old. Marilyn sighed—it was looking like Easy Mac again. “Charlie,” she said. “Charlie,” she called a little louder. “Charlie!” No answer. Marilyn left the kitchen and started up the stairs, which to her distaste were lined in a faded light green carpet.
Marilyn opened Charlie’s door and to her surprise, he was sitting on the ground in the center of his small bedroom, building a house with his Lincoln Logs.
“You haven’t played with those in years,” she said. Charlie was in third grade and he hadn’t touched his old toys since at least two years ago.
Charlie looked up. “Oh…I didn’t see you, Mom.”
“Or hear me. I called your name a few times.”
“Sorry,” Charlie shrugged. “I was just playing here with Thomas.”
“With Thomas? Who’s Thomas?”
“He’s right there,” Charlie pointed.
Marilyn frowned. The bedroom was empty aside from her and Charlie. “I don’t see him, Charlie.”
“But he’s right…” Charlie frowned. “Oh yeah. He’s invisible to other people. He told me that.”
Marilyn pressed her fingers over eyes. Charlie was in third grade for crying out loud. He was far too old for an imaginary friend. “Charlie,” she said, “you’re too old to have an imaginary friend.”
“But he’s not imaginary. He’s right there.” Charlie stood up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking strikingly like his mother. “He’s wearing a plain white t-shirt, blue jeans, and he has blue eyes. They’re the brightest blue eyes I have ever seen.”
“When did you first meet this Mr. Thomas?”
“Yesterday, when we moved into the house. We’ve been having lots of fun together.”
Marilyn let out a deep breath. So the stress of the move that was getting to him. “He’s not there,” Marilyn said softly. “He’s not there!” She shook her head frantically.
“But…”
“It’s dinner time, Charlie. You need to come down and set the table.”
“Fine.” Charlie hung his head. “Bye, Thomas,” he said, looking over to where he had pointed. There was a moment’s silence and Charlie turned his attention back to his mom. “What’s for dinner?” he asked.
“Easy Mac.”
“Ugh. Not again!”
***
The next day, Marilyn found Charlie playing with Thomas again. The Lincoln Log house from yesterday had grown into a small five-home village.
“Can you make yourself visible, Thomas?” Charlie asked.
Pause.
“Please, so Mommy can see that you’re real?”
“Charlie,”Marilyn said, “No imaginary friends. School starts in a few days and you need to make real friends… okay?”
A few hours later, Marilyn went back upstairs to find Charlie playing with Thomas, yet again.
“Charlie! I have had it! If I catch you playing with Thomas again, you are going to be in deep trouble! Do you understand me?”
“Yes.” Charlie hung his head.
The next day, Marilyn came up behind Charlie while he was sitting pretzel-style on the couch. Charlie was unaware that she was there. He was watching TV, innocently enough, but then he turned to his left and began to talk.
“You can’t be here, Thomas.”
Pause.
“But it’s my house now, and my mommy’s. Not yours.”
Pause.
“But I can’t play with you, Thomas. Mommy said I’d be in big trouble.”
Pause.
“I’m sorry, really. You were the nicest friend.”
Pause.
“Bye, Thomas.”
Pause.
“I love you too.”
Marilyn leaned against the wall and crossed her arms, lost in thought.
The next day was Charlie’s first day of school. It was mid-afternoon and Marilyn was in the kitchen, baking for a change, her favorite, old apron tied around her waist, making cookies to surprise Charlie—he’d be home in thirty minutes. That was when she heard a soft knocking sound coming from Charlie’s room. The noise got louder as Marilyn made her way upstairs.
“Hello?” Marilyn froze up when she opened Charlie’s door. There was a boy in the room, sitting on the ground, playing with Charlie’s Lincoln Logs.
The boy flashed Marilyn a grin. His eyes were a piercingly bright blue. He had on a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans. “Why hello,” the boy said.
The boy was almost see-through, wispy. He stood up and stepped toward her.
“You must be Thomas,” she said.
“Yes, indeed,” he smiled again. He stood up and took a step towards Marilyn. And when he blinked, his eyes shined even brighter.
When the bus dropped Charlie off at the house, he could smell the cookies baking from the front yard. “Oh Mom,” he yelled out, “did you bake my favorite cookies?”
He burst into the house, threw off his backpack, and rounded the corner into the kitchen. His mother was bent over, pulling the cookies from the oven.
“I did, honey.”
His mother looked almost see-though, wispy—kind of like Thomas had looked. And then she turned her face towards him and smiled. And he saw her bright blue eyes.
“Mom,” Charlie frowned, “your eyes look like Thomas’.”
“Oh don’t worry about that, my dear.” Charlie’s mom put the tray of cookies down on the counter. She moved over and gave Charlie a big hug. “Tell me about your first day of school.”