Mary, Mary and Me

JUST THE OTHER morning, sipping my green tea and surfing The Sister Project, I was transported in a flash to a backyard I haven’t visited in nearly 40 years. It’s all Marion’s fault.

Like Marion (maybe) and her daughter (for sure), I had an imaginary friend as a child. Her name was Mary, and I particularly liked to play with her in my backyard. She liked to perch with me on the rocks overlooking my mother’s fish pond. We may have talked to the goldfish, but I’m not sure–I was only 3.

Sometimes, I think, she took me to her backyard, too, where she had a swing set, something I lacked, and coveted. I talked to her, a lot, out loud, and sometimes in front of my parents, who tried hard to hear her side of the conversation. I think, if I’m not mistaken, Mary also had a pet bear, but I don’t believe that I ever met him.

As an only child, much younger than any of the neighbor kids, I needed Mary. She kept me company, answered my questions, and gave me a scapegoat for misdeeds. (Though I’m pretty sure the time I Crayola-ed my parents’ bedroom walls floor to 3 feet high as punishment for my mother taking an escape-the-toddler daytime bath, I didn’t even bother trying to foist the blame on Mary.)

When we left Cincinnati, my second of several childhood homes, for Chattanooga, Mary decided not to come with us. To this day, I don’t know why, though I think I do remember discussing her decision with my (very understanding) mother. Not so long after we arrived in Tennessee, I managed to replace my pretend friend Mary with a real friend Mary. Real Mary didn’t have a bear, but she did have a beagle named Happy and two real sisters of her own. Those brilliant, beautiful girls became the standard against which all future sister-groups would be judged, and though Mary and I lost touch for many years (we moved again when I was 10, leaving Tennessee for Chicago) we recently reconnected thanks to the miracle of Facebook, and I’ve been able to ask her all the questions I could think of about life as the middle of three incredible sisters.

My kids have yet to reveal any imaginary friends to me, though my daughter does often talk to her feet (the left one is Finn, the right Kiki) and play with them as though they are babies.

I suppose I could have done that with Imaginary Mary. But probably not with the bear…

Do you or someone you know need an imaginary friend? You could make your own–the Imaginary Friend doll above is available online. (Her name is Mona.)

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