Dear Imaginary Keith,
It is hard to believe that you’ve been gone for as long as you have now. How long has it been? Two weeks? Certainly more then one, I know that much. But you know me, I’ve always been bad with time. I guess in some ways we are very much alike.
So, my friend, how are your travels treating you? Or should I ask how you are treating them? I suppose it could go either way. It isn’t quite the same around here without you, and I can’t wait for you to get back. I’m anxious to hear of your adventures. They say that the world is a big and wonderful place, filled with many wonders, and I like to think that you are out there, finding them all. Of course, you could just as easily be stuck somewhere along the edge of town, camping under a bridge with a small band of hobos. Until I hear from you, I really have no way of knowing.
I bet you thought that everything would just stay the same while you were gone. Think again. You may be the world’s greatest lounge-about thinker, but I am not. I am a small boy of action. I make lists. I plan and I attack. In the world of eight year olds, I am a real kick ass and take names later kind of boy. Metaphorically speaking, of course. But I am kicking the hell out of my lists these days.
Now that you’re gone on your trip, I sat down and made a list of the things that you should have done more then a year ago. You know what I’m talking about, so don’t play stupid. I don’t care if you’re lying face down in a heap of stinking, drunk hobos, trying to decide whose urine stained pants smell most like last night’s Mad Dog, you’d still know what it is I’m talking about, wouldn’t you? There’s no stink in the world strong enough to wash away everything you’ve been putting off doing. So roll off the pile, if that’s in fact what you’re doing, and listen up.
Yesterday (which was Monday, September 14, 2004, in case you’ve completely lost track of time) I told her to come over so that we could discuss our options. Now, I won’t go into great detail, because I know full well that you’d only begin to black out with the overload of information. Your mind seems to float on clouds, Imaginary Keith, and I’m well aware that reality has a way of evaporating your protective, cushiony layer. And since you are on vacation, a sabbatical of sorts, I will spare you the total harshness of reality. But you should know that a few things have been set in motion. Things that effect you. Big things, actually. Really big things.
But until I know for sure that this letter has reached you safely, I will hold back on any further details. If you’re curious, write me. If you have the time, inclination, or energy, pick up a phone. I may write a mean to-do list, but not one of them seems to replace the sound of your voice.
I await your reply,
K
Dear K,
Rolling around with drunk hobos! Honestly, just whose imagination is floating around on clouds this time? For your information, I am clean and sober and hardly rolling around at all. As a matter of fact, yesterday I watched more continuous television then I think I ever have in my whole life. As a matter of fact, I may have watched more hours yesterday then I watched all of last year. Did you know that you can solve any murder just by understanding chemistry? I watched several back to back episodes of CSI, and now deeply regret the disdain I had for chemistry class back in college. I could have been a great detective. Those damn professors never said a word about that. Not back then. But I don’t blame them. I don’t think even they knew how fascinating crime would become. I don’t think anyone knew.
I’ve read your letter, several times in fact, and can only begin to guess what mischief you’re up to with my life. What are you doing? I think you better tell me, pronto, before things get too out of hand. The last thing I want to do is return home, only to find that every single thing about me has changed. Can you blame me? It’s the single greatest fear of any imaginary friend. It’s quite a paradox. Imagination is all about change, and yet it is the one thing we fear the most. Go figure.
Do you know what television is teaching me? That life basically boils down to a constant battle of one thing trying to outmaneuver another thing. The characters in the shows are always trying to outsmart or outjoke the other characters. The shows themselves wrestle for position, and their scripts are constant attempts to recreate interesting ways for us to watch this nonstop maneuvering. I wonder what things would have been like if television had always existed? When Darwin decided that life was all about survival of the fittest, would we have watched it as a sitcom or a reality show? And what about religion? What about Jesus wandering around, tipping over carts and whipping up miracles? Inspirational television? Soap opera? Game show, perhaps? I suppose any of it could go any direction. If you pardon the pun, when it comes to television, nothing is set in stone. There are no television commandments. Anything goes. Just like life.
Today I think I’ll watch 12 Monkeys and several episodes of The District. I’m sorry, but I can’t get enough of that police chief, wandering around the streets of Washington D.C., singlehandedly cleaning up crime. The beauty of television, you see, is that time doesn’t exist. Or if it does, it isn’t a factor. I’ve watched quite a few episodes where all that chief does is walk around town, pointing his finger at drug dealers and gangsters and saying things like, “I see you,” and “I’ve got my eye on you.” And that’s just about all it takes, because obviously crime doesn’t like to be seen and will zoom off in a fancy car if you keep your eye on it long enough.
Say hi to my son for me. I do hope he’s not giving you too much trouble.
Watching,
Imaginary Keith