Short Story, The Imaginary Journal of Sylvia H

Short story,  The Imaginary Journal of Sylvia H

That day I woke up feeling empty and alone.  Because I was.  I was alone.

Sammy forgot to wake me up that morning, and the next.  She keeps forgetting, even though two years ago she told me she would never, never forget.

My name is Sylvia, my hair is black, shiny and slightly flicks out at the bottom.  There are only a few millimeters between my hair and my shoulders.  If I force my neck down I can feel the blunt ends of my hair scratch against the tops of my shoulders.

Samantha got my name from some of her mother's books.  She’s never read any of them but has noticed them and seen her mother reading them many times.  Every time she asked her mother about them she would respond calmly, “The author's name is Sylvia Plath, Sammy dear.  Don’t worry about her yet, you might enjoy reading her work when you're older, you might not.  For now just wait.”

Sammy listened to her mother and never read a word except for “Sylvia Plath'' over and over.   It was printed on the cover of the books in crimson ink.  She read that name and soon fell in love with Sylvia Plath.  She fell in love with the name and the writing, even though she had not read a single word Sylvia Plath had written.  She knew she would never forget that name so she decided to use it for me.

Samantha loved Snow White and that's where she got my hair.  Samantha loved hair and how different it could be.  She has dark red hair that flows long over her shoulders and down her back.  She wanted our hair to be different so she pulled from her favorite Disney character, the movie she watched once a week on Sunday evenings for one whole year of her life.  Snow White was not a real name to Samantha which is why she picked a different one (and I must say, I am glad she did).

Samantha loves the flick at the end of people’s hair. When she went around and saw people with this favored flick, she swore that some day she, or someone she knew, would have a flick at the bottom of theirs.  That would be me.

Lastly the pearls.  She loved long necklaces with a single pearl at the bottom, which is why she draped one over my neck each morning.  She did this the first day she created me and then on.  Now I have to do it myself.

Samantha told me we would always be friends.  She said I was her best friend, that I would always be with her.  And I was for a long time.  “They grow up” they say.  “They won’t love you forever” say others.  But I thought, I knew, that was wrong with me and Samantha.  I guess I was wrong.

Three mornings ago was the first time I woke up late and noticed the disheveled bed and no eleven year old girl asleep or waking up in it.  I looked around and knew she had forgotten.  In case you don’t know (and you probably don’t) Samantha has to think about me, or else… I die.  Well that's not exactly true.  If she doesn't remember me she can’t talk and play with me and that is the same as dying to me.  But she has to, she has to remember me, she has to or I will just continue following her and she will not know to talk to me again.

That's what I did that morning.  I draped a long pearl necklace over my neck, “Goodbye Mrs. Hartley,” I whispered to Sylvia's mother, even though I knew she could not hear or see me, and I walked out the door. Soon I arrived at Samantha's school and went to find her. Once I did I stood behind her a while listening to her laugh with her friends during her lunch hour. I repeatedly imagined her thinking of me in her head. I willed it to happen, just one thought, one little thought. Just my name: ‘Sylvia’. I imagined Sylvia written in looped cursive with crimson red ink. I imagined it large and small, in blocked letters and in a dainty dancing script. I scrunched my brow, squeezed my eyes shut and forced deep wrinkles in my forehead for one, two, three, four, five seconds. And then Iet it all go. I looked straight ahead, softened my gaze, and let the wrinkles fall out of my face. I remembered a quote Samantha once told me: Each person dies twice: first, when their body dies and their soul floats up to heaven, and the second time, the saddest, is the last time someone says their name. ‘I think that's awfully sad, don’t you Sylvia?’ Samantha asked. I remembered that day and I remember I said: ‘Yes, yes it is. Let’s not forget each other. Alright Samantha.” “I never could, Sylvia. And I never will, don’t worry.”

I still think of that time, and I think how for some people, the ones who were only imagined really are alive if the world goes by those rules.  They just get one time to die.

After a while I went to sit down in the corner of the room and waited until school was over and followed her home.  Once we both got home I continued to wait.  I watched as Samantha fell onto her bed extending her arms out, stretching over her bed.  And then she whispered:

“Sylvia.”  Then I knew she saw me and knew I was standing right there.

“I am so sorry Sylvia, I forgot.  I forgot to give you your pearl this morning.  I am glad you got it yourself.  Don’t worry, I won’t forget again.  I will never forget you again.   But if, if I do, just remember I still love you Sylvia.  And I am very mad at my future self for forgetting the important things.”

“That’s okay I guess.”

I told her that three days ago even though I did not feel okay.  Now, I can tell you she has forgotten a little bit more each day.  But I haven’t.

I have been following her around each day.  Today I tiptoed behind her when she was walking with her friends.  Not sure why I tiptoe, I know they can’t hear me.  She went a couple of places with her friends and then went home.  Still I tracked behind her.

Samantha opened the door to her little room and I was right behind her. She flopped her backpack down on her dresser and I watched as everything happened so fast.   Her backpack knocked over a little box, a very special little green and blue box.  You see, Samantha collects pearls, long pearl necklaces to be precise and she keeps them in a little green and blue jewelry box.   It felt like the world sped up and slowed down at the same time as I watched pearls fly in every corner of the small room.  Pearls and beads broke off of chains and thin strings and ropes, they cracked, splintered and broke all over the place.

I watched as Samantha's mouth fell open and I backed against a wall.   Samatha just stood there with her arm still against her backpack, holding it there so it won’t fall.

She doesn’t care anymore.   She doesn’t care about me.  She doesn’t care that she broke all her pearls, the first item she used when creating me, thinking of me, imagining me.  The item she draped over my neck each morning.  All of them, gone.

She doesn’t care!  I screamed in my head as loud as I could, then out loud.

“She doesn’t care!” I screamed to no one, no one in particular and to no one at all.

I was fading away.  Away from Samantha's daily thoughts, day by day, as she got older and older.

To be truthful, I am not sure how much I care about the pearls.  I definitely didn’t care as much as I did scream at her that day, even though she didn’t hear it.  Maybe she did, hear it that is.  Maybe she thought of me along with the pearls and didn’t say anything to my enraged, quiering body... My enraged body was more hurt than angry.  I realized everything that really happened over the few days and it hit me like a truck, it hurt and made me mad.  The day Samantha broke all her pearls was more of a day of finalization for me.  It had almost nothing to do with pearls.  They just started it.  One might say: started it and ended it.

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If you got to this point and read all of it, I can only say thank you.  I know not very many people are going to read this but I am still putting my writing out to the few that do.  I have not writen very many short stories at all but I truly enjoy short stories in every way.  And in case you were wondering they are actually pretty hard to write, you want to make them interesting and impactful and you only have a short space to do that.

Now to talk about the story.  I hope you all got it, I really do.  If you didn't thats okay, you just read a short story about how a little girl was slowly forgetting her imaginary friend from the point of the imaginary girl.

I believe, for many young children imaginary friends are a big part of their childhood but if you ask many people they will remember that they had imaginary friends but can't remember their names.  Don't get me wrong, think that is totally okay, people have to grow up and change but I thought it was really fun and interesting to explore and write about this change through the imaginary friends point of view.

You might not know, but one of my writing goals is to write a book of short stories.  As I said I love short stories, I love writing and reading them.  I can get very distracted from writing long term projects and I love being able to write a story in one sitting and then come back later to fix, change and add onto it.  If you do enjoy writing and have tried writing short stories but can't get the hang of it I would suggest you research a way to write them and make them more impactful.  I have researched just that and even though I don't have the time to tell you all about it here I will tell you something I found.  Novels focus on changing the character or characters through a journey and short stories focus on changing the character or characters through an event.  I think that is a good way to decide if your idea is best suited for a book or a short story.  I think short stories are also good becasue they are super flexible.  You could use a short story to explain or tell something hidden about the character to the readers.  You could write a super short story or a rather long short story.  I have one more tip: if you would like to write short stories, write it all in one sitting.  It is not really going to be finished but get it all out on paper and ready to be revised later.  I find this really helps.  You don't want to put a lot of presure on yourself and it's the best place to write about something new if you don't know if it will work out or not.

Again, thank you for reading.

If you have any questions or comments, I welcome you to write them below.

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