Writing Prompt: Wild Imagination

   This blog is for me that others may read. I spend at least an hour on each prompt then go back and edit it then post it. If I come back to it I come back to it but if I don't then oh well. I have so many stories in my head and get depressed if I don't write something so this is more therapy for me. Enjoy!

    
    Writing Prompt:

         A child is born with an imagination so strong it leaks into reality. 

              It's not easy being an ordinary parent to an extraordinary child. The day Michael was born it was the best day of my life. The memory of the biting, cutting, stretching pain subsided once I saw him and they put him in my arms all covered in blood and after birth. I knew Michael was special though I didn't know how special at the time. 

It first happened when Michael was 3. I had gotten him a mobile with rainbow gold fish when he was a baby. He loved to watch the fish rotate above him. Would put him right to sleep. One day we were playing in his room when I saw 5 rainbow goldfish, real fish but unlike anything normal in nature, appear out of thin air and gaped as the fish swam around Michael's head as if they were in water and not air. What do you do when something like that happens? What can you do? You can't ask a doctor. What would you tell the doctor? My son has such a strong imagination that he can create it into thin air. They would have locked me away. Worse Michael would have conjured up things while in a foster home and the government would take him away; poke and prod him like a lab rat. Cut him open. No. I kept quiet. 

I did my best to keep Michael's ability a secret which was not easy. Michael had a very active often wild imagination. Sometimes it was beautiful: rainbows, talking animals, talking plants, etc. But other times it was terrifying. Michael thought there was a monster in his closet and sure enough he created a Medusa-like creature. Luckily I was handy with a shot gun. When you're the daughter of a cop you tend to know how to shoot a berreta before you can walk. That's when Michael learned to read. He learned fast and we had to have a more serious conversation about reigning in his imagination. 

"Be careful what you think of," I told him. "You're not like other kids. Your monsters are real."

"Only monsters?" he asked dark eyes wide. 

"No," I hugged him, "you can make beautiful things too. Just make sure no one is around to see what you can do."

"Why?" the automatic toddler response when faced with something he doesn't understand yet. 

"Because they won't understand," I didn't want to scare him too much in case his mind decided to conjure something dangerous. "Don't worry if you can create monsters then you can easily destroy them." Michael and I cuddled in the darkness of his small room. Holding onto each other as if some force would separate us at any moment. To light up the room Michael imagined small glowing blue jellyfish floating around us as if in their natural habitat. 

"See," I pointed. "Beautiful."

"These don't sting either," Michael spoke proudly. "But they can if someone tries to take me away."

I kissed his soft head whispering, "Mommy won't let that happen." 

To help I limited the things Michael could watch, read, even draw. Anything too fantastical I kept out of his reach. He could read them when he was older and more in control of his creative mind. Some parents have called me far to strict but they had ordinary children.

You may ask what about Michael's father? I could ask the same. I was 18 when I went to India. It was the only exotic place I had ever been. Coming from a low income family I didn't have many opportunities but I was smart; smarter than the other kids. Things had a way of sticking to me. I wanted to be a doctor and my guidance counselor told me that I could volunteer in India. My father didn't approve. He didn't approve much about anything. Irish Catholics never do. But he let me go. 

I was enchanted by the whole country; it's culture, it's people. That's when I met a local named Sanja. Very handsome and charming. His smile seemed to light up a room. He was an artist. He weaseled a date out of me by drawing a picture of me. 

"You can have it if you have dinner with me," he remarked slyly.

"Why would I do that for a picture?" I asked smiling.

"No not for a picture," he said, "but because we're destined to meet. I know you feel it too." The thing was that I did feel something. Like Sanja was a magnet pulling me towards him.

I returned home pregnant. My father furious. My dreams of becoming a doctor didn't seem possible, but I knew I had to keep him. I wanted to keep this child. I left home which was easy since my father disowned me. Took night classes, worked 2 jobs and became a nurse instead. Not bad for a single mom. I never saw Sanja again. I tried getting his address but it didn't seem to exist. If I didn't have Michael I could have sworn that Sanja was a figment of my imagination. Not sure he could have helped any way. What help would a dreamer be to another dreamer? I was the down to earth type. It was all about facts. My son may have had the ability to create things out of thin air but the fact remained that I loved him and would do anything to protect him. 

Now Michael is 10 years old. He's smarter now. He knows some amount of restraint. I became less vigilant but he was still a child. A day would come where we would have to run again. We had been running for years after every incident. I knew how to disappear. I went from Elena Ripley to many other aliases. For now I'm Susan Mallory. I can hope things won't change again but something always happens to ruin mine and Michael's world. 

The day came unexpectedly, which was odd because expecting the other shoe to drop became a second instinct for me. It came around Father's Day. Not a good day for my son or me. Michael's father was not in the picture and mine disowned me. Michael would often watch other children at school or at the park playing with their fathers with a mournful look of envy on his face. He asked me about his father a few times. Where was he? Does he know about me? I couldn't find him so what could I say? I told Michael that his father died. That put an end to it. Or so I thought...

It was rare that I could sleep in. Sundays were my only day off. I expected to sleep all day as usual but this Sunday (and Father's Day) turned into a headache. Michael woke me up. He was ecstatic for some reason. Very eager.

"Mom, mom wake up!"

"Michael...," I groaned. "What is it? You know I like to sleep on Sundays..." I rolled over taking refuge under the covers but I wasn't safe from Michael's persistence. He pulled the covers down and that's when I started to smell something cooking...

"I have a surprise for you, mom!" Michael jumped on the bed.

"You didn't turn on the stove did you?" The thought of danger was caffeine enough.

"Come and see!" Michael pulled me out of bed and led me to the kitchen where I saw a very handsome man scrambling eggs in a pan. He was tall, had a muscular build, mocha skin and big brown eyes. He turned to me and Michael and his face lit up with a smile that made him even more gorgeous. 

"Good morning," the tenor in his voice made my knees buckle. I suddenly felt a mess until I realized what Michael had done.

"Michael...," I turned to him going full mom mode with arms crossed, a firm stance and narrowed eyes with an authoritative tone, "what did you do? Did you conjure him up?"

Michael realized that I wasn't as thrilled to have another man in the house as he was. He became sheepish lowering his chin, his sad eyes looking up at me, hands behind his back. He spoke in a sheepish voice, "I was thinking we never get to celebrate Father's Day and you're always tired from working I thought..." 

I took a deep breath as the gears in my mind began turning to shake the cobwebs of sleep away. 

"How am I going to explain another man in the house, Michael?" I asked trying to keep my tone level though by Michael's shrinking posture it didn't sound that way. We did have a nosy neighbor. An old lady Mrs. Jaeger who practically spent her days at her cracked door to watch the comings and goings of each tenant. "Did anyone see him?"

"No...," Michael said. 

"You guys look hungry," the new man interrupted. "Have some eggs. Plenty of protein." 

"That's very nice of you but--" 

"And here are some waffles and the bacon should be ready," the man continued in a chipper tone, "and I fixed a few things around here last night while you were sleeping."

"You did?" How did I not hear anything last night? It was a long shift the day before and I was exhausted. Once my head hit the pillow I was out. I probably wouldn't have heard a parade in my apartment.

"The leaky pipe under the bathroom sink is fixed, then there was the crack in Michael's wall and a few loose floor boards." 

"He's very helpful, mom," Michael insisted. "Just like a real dad."

Not like my dad. He was helpful around the house but I remember he was always irritable and tired. I looked at the handsome new man and though every logical bone in my body was telling me to make Michael make him disappear I smelled the nice food, my mouth began to salivate and the floor boards were less creaky... 

"Just for the day," I turned to Michael who lit up like Christmas. "Then I want him gone by tomorrow." 

Michael hugged me then went to the table to enjoy some scrambled eggs. 

"Here you go," the man offered me a steaming cup of black coffee. I accepted it but did not expect him to kiss me on the lips. It lasted only a few seconds but the warmth lingered a while. The shock a little longer. 

"Hey don't do that!" I scolded. The man looked at me confused. I realized that Michael conjured up a father and that means in Michael's view we would be like the families he had seen in movies. 

"Sorry," the man apologized his sparkling eyes diminishing a bit. "Thought you'd like it."

"He needs a name," Michael stuffed his mouth full of eggs. 

"No," I said. Once you name something you get attached to it.

"But you need to call me something," the man reasoned. 

"My son may call you dad but I'm not getting attached," I explained. "Though I have to come up with some excuse as to who you are and why people are only seeing you now."

"Jack! I like that name," Michael named him anyway. 

"Jack it is," Jack shrugged. I was outnumbered. I needed caffeine to make it even again. Happy Father's Day I suppose.