The Art of Imaginary Friends

My hands were shaking when I opened up the heavy door of the Yume Art Gallery. Located on Carmel’s main street, it remained impossible to miss as you strolled by on your way to the white sand beaches. The owner Sonni was one of the only female gallery owners in Carmel and had always appreciated my work. She’d say ‘Marisol, one of these days you're going to design a collection for my gallery.’ Today was that day and I was elated even through my nerves. It was all reminiscent of my first showcase at 23 years old. That showing was a success and helped solidify my career as an artist.

The showcase today was an extension of that first show all those years ago. An “Introspection of an Artist Through Dreams.” Luckily for me, I have always been a vivid dreamer, but there was one painting in the collection I was almost timid to debut. It was going to be my main piece, and like my main piece at my first show, it was also of the same person. A woman I have seen in my dreams since I was a little girl, except back then in my dreams she was also a little girl. My mind aged us in unison. She has raven black hair like mine and unmistakable forest green eyes. To me, she felt warm, kind, and resembled the imaginary friend I played with when I was little at my foster home.

My foster home was a farmhouse located a few hours from Carmel, in the rural countryside, nestled between rolling hills and fields rich with grazing cattle. My imaginary friend and I would spend countless days frolicking in meadows together, hunting for waterfalls nearby, and picking flowers to make each other flower crowns. For this collection, I painted her in her thirties. In the first painting, I portrayed her as younger because that's how I saw her then. An anonymous person bought that painting before the show even concluded, astounding me and especially my family. I didn’t think anyone would value her as much as I did.

My adoptive parents never missed my shows and even arrived 10 minutes early for tonight’s showcase. My brother Jordy unfortunately was out of town but had already bought a piece through the streaming auction. The atmosphere was lively as jazz music filled the gallery and the sounds of clinking champagne glasses resonated off the walls. I made my way through the gallery stopping to meet and chat with guests. As I was making my rounds, I noticed a small group had assembled around my main painting. I saw my best friend, Lana, in the crowd. She noticed me and mouthed the words ‘wow’ while gesturing to the painting. I laughed as she made her way over to me.

“Congrats on the show!” We hugged enthusiastically and then her mouth twisted into an inquisitive smile. “Is that a self-portrait?” She gestured to my painting hanging above us.

“Is it?” Sonni joined us with her assistant by her side, both looking keen for an answer.

“No, it's not me. Just a figure I’ve dreamt of.” I tried to brush it off. Sonni’s assistant then got a phone alert and pulled her aside. They chatted quickly and then Sonni nodded happily. She turned back to Lana and me.

“Marisol, someone just made an offer to buy this painting, and for way more than the original price!”

“That’s great!” I proclaimed. “Who bought it?”

“I’m not sure, the broker said they wanted to stay anonymous,” Sonni replied.

“Interesting,” I said, gazing up at the painting.

After the showcase, Lana and I sat in my living room sipping tea in our pajamas. I was still pondering the anonymous sale of my painting. My contemplation was cut short by the sound of my doorbell ringing. Lana and I turned our heads to the door and then back to each other.

“Were you expecting anyone?” Lana whispered. I shook my head trying not to make a sound. I got up and sidestepped my way to the front door and gently lowered my head to the peephole. There on my doorstep was a normal looking brown box but floating above the box was anything but normal.

“Drone?” I questioned, beckoning Lana to come see. It was matte black and the size of a shoebox. I quietly went to the window for a better view. The drone continued to float there around eye level, then started buzzing louder and louder. It spun around and took off over the rooftops and out of sight into the evening sky. Mustering some amount of grit I carefully opened the door and brought the box inside, resuming my spot on the couch. Lana sat in the chair next to me anxiously awaiting my next move.

“Who sent you a drone package?” She asked.

“I’m not sure” I answered, spinning the box in my hands until I spotted writing on the side in black marker, ‘To Marisol’ was all that was written. I ripped away at the tape, opened up the top, and peered inside the box.

“What is it?” Lana asked, fidgeting in her seat.

“I can’t believe this,” I reached inside and pulled out a small brown bean bag bear, singed and darkened by fire yet still maintaining an essence of childlike whimsy.

“What is that?” Lana asked concerned.

“This,” I took a deep breath, “looks just like my favorite toy I had as a kid. A bear I named Clover. I would bring him everywhere but years ago I lost him in the fire that burnt down my foster home.”

“Your foster home burnt down!?” Lana exclaimed. “Is that the same bear from the fire?”

I examined the burnt tag near its leg and sure enough, there was my name scrawled in purple marker. I showed Lana and she couldn’t believe it, and neither could I.

“I couldn’t find him the day Jordy and I got adopted. We left in the afternoon and that night the fire had broken out from bad wiring or something. Everyone was okay but the farmhouse burnt down to the studs practically. I never thought I’d see this bear again.” I turned it around in my hands, careful not to cause any more damage.

“Who would send you your crispy childhood toy?” Lana asked, eyeing the bear.

“I don’t know. Wait there’s something else in here.” I placed Clover on the coffee table and re-examined the box. Inside was a piece of paper and something underneath. I read the note and my blood ran cold.

“Mari, what does it say?” Lana touched my arm.

“Uh, it says, ‘Miss you, friend. From, Gabi.’”

“Okay, whose Gabi?”

“My imaginary friend, the one from my painting.”

“Excuse me?”

“I thought she was imaginary. No one ever saw her, not even Jordy.” I looked back down at the box. “Oh my god.” I shook my head in disbelief as I revealed the last item.

“Is that a photo of you?” Lana asked. I held up a polaroid picture, slightly singed by the fire but the subject remained untouched like the day it was developed.

“No,” I swallowed hard, “this is a photo of Gabi.” Lana’s eyes widened, and she grabbed the polaroid for a closer look. The photo was of a girl around 8 years old wearing a green dress with long flowing black hair against her back. Her head was slightly tilted facing the camera, only revealing a little bit of her face. She had freshly picked flowers clutched in one of her hands.

“So you took this picture?” She asked, handing it back.

“Yeah. I thought I lost this in the fire too.”

“Has anyone seen this photo besides you?”

“No, it was taken the day before the fire. You’re the first one to see what my imaginary friend looked like.” I peered down at the photo, it was like holding a memory. I could smell the flowers that day, hear the birds flying overhead, and feel the sun on my face.

“Are you sure Mari that the girl in the photo isn’t you? It is a polaroid, so the exposure and brightness can be off.”

“I refuse to believe that’s me. Gabi was my imaginary friend I created to cope with being a kid with no family. I mean, thank goodness Jordy and I became super close. If it wasn’t for him and Gabi I would have dwelled on my present without ever thinking about my future.”

“But how can a ghost send you a drone gift?” Lana asked, pointing to the box contents.

“As far as I know, Gabi was never a living person and you know what?” My wheels were turning, “I have only painted her twice and both times an anonymous buyer bought the piece. I think this box and tonight's show are connected.”

“We should track down this person or imaginary person,” Lana added. “I can start searching drone delivery sites, there can’t be that many of them. We won’t let this person stay anonymous any longer.”

“We have to go where the bear and the photo originated,” I held up the note. “the farmhouse.”

The next day, Lana and I set out through the long stretches of two-lane roads and sprawling gold fields to the former farmhouse. My mind wandered as Lana drove. As though she could hear my thoughts Lana asked, “Do you think your foster mom has anything to do with this?”

“Crossed my mind,” I answered back. “But after some online sleuthing I found that she had actually died a few years back. Cancer.”

“Oh that’s rough, I’m sorry.”

“I always remember her being a nice woman, she actually said that I was surrendered to her personally as a baby. I wish I got the chance to thank her for making sure Jordy and I got placed together, I had all this time to find her but never the energy.”

“It’s okay to not have the energy, that doesn’t mean you didn’t have the desire. I’m sure she could feel the gratitude as you and your brother left hand in hand that day.”

“You’re probably right.” A small reassuring smile inched its way across my face.

“We’re here,” Lana said. I looked up and couldn’t comprehend what I was seeing. There was the farmhouse in all its glory. Two stories of daffodil yellow paneled siding, white shutters, and a white wraparound porch. A freshly watered fern hanging in the front window. It looked as though time and the fire never touched it. Lana parked and cut the engine.

“The house looks really good for being a pile of cinders and soot.”

“Yeah, what's its secret?” I said getting out of the car. Lana followed close behind me as I made my way up the steps and to the front door. “I hope the answer is here.” I held my breath as I knocked. Lana stood at attention, and we both waited for a response. Nothing. I pressed the doorbell and again waited.

“No one?” Lana asked disappointed.

“Let’s go around back,” I led the way around the porch to the back of the house. My eyes begin scanning the yard.

“Look.” Lana pointed towards a shed in the corner of the yard. A tall woman wearing a green plaid shirt and worn-in jeans was organizing gardening supplies. I made my way over. She began taking off her gloves when I approached.

“Hello!” I started with, “my name is —'' I froze when I saw her face. She brushed her black hair behind her ear exposing her forest green eyes. She recognized me and smiled as if greeting an old friend. “Marisol.”

“Gabi?” I responded. She nodded. Lana examined me and then her astonished.

“What is happening?” I was perplexed because there before me was my childhood playmate. I saw a flash of her eight-year-old self in her green dress with a flower crown perched on her head.

“You got my package.” She said.

“Yeah, I did. Cool drone by the way.” I said trying to keep my cool.

“That was the quickest option,” she chuckled, “I kind of wanted you to put the pieces together.”

“Did you buy the painting also?” I blurted out.

“Of course.” She nodded. “You are very talented.” My head was spinning.

“Thank you, but can we start at the beginning? Who are you really, and why haven’t you reached out sooner?”

“Let’s go inside, I’ll explain everything.” Gabi motioned to the farmhouse and we followed her inside. We sat down at a large wooden dining room table. Gabi sat down next to me with her hands folded in front of her. She was visibly nervous. Whatever secret she had, she had perfected holding on to it for all this time.

“I was born and raised in a small cottage down a dirt road over that way. There I lived with my mother, and my father for a minute or two but never consistently. We were very poor. I had one favorite dress my father had bought me. I never wore it while doing chores or while being homeschooled. Only for special occasions like holidays and when I would play with you. I never had any siblings because my mother could barely afford to keep me fed or clean. That’s why when I was little, and my mother got pregnant with my father's child, the only thing she could think of was to give the second baby to the kind woman down the street in the great big yellow farmhouse full of kids who needed homes. Once I found out later, that baby lived down the street, nothing could stop me from visiting you, my sister.”

“Sister?” I repeated. The word sounded so foreign to me.

“We are sisters.” Gabi smiled reassuringly.

“I convinced you I was imaginary because I thought if your foster mom found out I was sneaking out of my house to play with you she’d tell my mother who absolutely had no idea. The last time I saw you I didn’t know would be our last adventure. I had come back the next day to our usual meet-up spot and waited but you never came. I had brought your stuffed bear you named Clover and the polaroid picture you had taken the day before. When it got dark I hid both the bear and picture near the shed hoping you’d find them. That night the wailing fire truck sirens woke me up. My mom would later tell me the farmhouse burned down, no one died but all the kids would then be relocated. She probably became suspicious that I knew the truth because of the way I cried on the kitchen floor. That was before the internet and phones so I thought you were gone forever. Once I could I started web-searching your name but never found any credible hits. My spirits were low but then I received a mysterious package in the mail. I curiously tore open the rigid thin square box and imagine my surprise when I unboxed a brilliant painting of me! One thing that left me speechless though, was how it looked like me at that moment. A note in the package said the painting was created by a new up-and-coming artist in Carmel named Marisol and it was signed by your foster mom. She had asked my mother before she died for my address to send me the painting. Our mother would end up dying too shortly thereafter. ”

“Oh my god,” I whispered.

“It became clear that your little brother Jordy had been telling her that you had an imaginary friend named Gabi who was a little girl too. She put the pieces together way before anyone else. I was ecstatic to finally have your full name but then my work relocated me to our France office and have been overseas ever since. I always wanted to say something but It felt wrong to do so from so far away. Then a year ago I got a google alert that this farmhouse was up for sale, so I convinced my French husband to move back to my hometown so we could fix it up. My goal was to restore the farmhouse and then reach out to you for a visit. When I looked at your website a few weeks back I saw you were having a show, so I took the opportunity to time the show and the package. You see, in the days following the fire, I had returned to the rubble. That’s when I found Clover and the photo, singed by the fire but spared by the flames. I have had them all this time. Now they are where they belong, with you.” Her eyes started to tear up. I intuitively reached for her hand.

“Well It’s nice to meet you, again,” I said. A smile spread across her face, I could see how people thought I was her in my paintings.

“This is amazing,” Lana added warmly.

“What I still can’t figure out is how you were able to paint my likeness through the years?”

“I have seen you in my dreams since the day I left here. I assumed that my mind aged my imaginary friend to help me cope with life. Never did I think you were real, or my sister. Oh my god, I have to call my brother and tell him we have a sister!” Gabi put her hand on her chest, touched by my sentiment. She squeezed my hand and I squeezed her hand back, something we did as kids.

If anyone saw us at that moment, all they’d see were two women that looked somewhat alike pleasantly holding hands. When all we saw were two young girls, smiling ear to ear, finally reunited with their best friend.