Name your imaginary friends from your childhood. I spent most of my time with Jan. My shadow and I spent countless hours climbing trees and riding bikes. On rainy days we created bunny families and towns with paper and scissors. We explored for hidden treasures at low tide off Bay Street near the bridge over the inter-coastal waterway. We managed to sneak away to my friend’s house only to have her mom meet us at the door and tell us Momma called and return home.
But some of my best friends met me on the pages of books. When the librarian tells you not to bring back books the same day you checked them out and wait until the next day, you devise creative ways to immerse yourself in literature. Living next to the library as a child, I hopped the fence, entered the quiet sanctuary, found a book, curled up in a corner and read until closing. That worked well many days unless Momma called and the librarian sent me home. The characters in books breathed. I wanted to be Polly Pepper and live in a house with a dirt floor and be loved by the entire town. I wanted to be Jo in Little Women and not have to act like a prissy girl. I wanted to be Florence Nightingale, Louisa May Alcott, Marie Curie, Anne Frank, and hundreds of others.
Ask me and the details of my school libraries will carry you there. You will see the rows of blue covered biographies of which I read every one. You may feel the sand against your legs as you sit on the floor, ankles crossed and the pressing of the edges of the shelves against your spine. You may feel the need to squirm from sitting in the hard oak chair, elbows propped on the table and your chin resting on the palms of your hands. You may hear the quiet. Read with me and become a character in the book with me. Sweet, treasuered memories.
Read Friday’s post and find where these friendships carried me.