Emory has an imaginary friend named Nothing. Nothing is with him most of the time and travels with us in Emory’s pocket. The existence of Nothing has spawned some pretty profound, existential conversations as of late. Here are a few of our more recent conversations.
Em: “Nothing is in my pocket.”
Me: “Oh yeah? Do you want something in your pocket?”
Em: “No. Then there won’t be room for Nothing.”
Me: “Oh. Right.”
Em: “But if you hold Nothing in your hand, something will fit in my pocket.”
Em: “Nothing told me everything last night.”
Em: “I want Nothing in the bath with me.”
Me: “Really? Won’t that be boring?”
Em: “Nothing is NOT boring.”
Me: “Oh, right. I’ll go get Nothing.”
Em: “Nothing is keeping me up.”
Me: “Then why are you still awake?”
Em, a little confused: “Because of Nothing! Can you tell him to be quiet?”
Me: “Nothing! Hush!”
But then yesterday Em had to have a little talk with me. I think I was getting too good with Nothing. You see, Nothing tells me stories perched from the palm of my hand. And I always give Em some details and he always loves it. But I guess I’ve been getting too good at talking to Nothing. Because Em listened to me go on and on. When I was finished, Em politely said, “Mama? You do know Nothing isn’t real, right?” Which is a profound statement in that of itself.
But Nothing is very real to me.