I often come read at Liberty Park. I'm the one at table with the missing bench.
The little girl that frequents the playground near my bench, always without friend or parent, skips everywhere, chatters non-stop and often erupts into spontaneous giggles. It irritates me.
Almost shouting, I ask, “Why don't you have any friends, anyway?”
Bewildered, the girl looks at me, gestures to her right, and says, “I always have Charlie.”
I roll my eyes. An imaginary friend. With an unblinking gaze, the girl stares at me, then, after a whispered conversation with Charlie, says, “Do you wanna borrow him?”
I fumed all the way to the storage unit. After entering my code in the keypad I opened the door and placed my new pair of Nike basketball shoes on top of the car stereo box, which was tucked snugly between the Playstation games and my guitar case.
Then I went home, empty handed.