Page 23 of Shadowman
My firstactualthought was,What’s the catch?
Because I wouldn’t put it past my father to hand me a toy, only to smack me upside the head the moment I accepted it.
But when hedidn’tdo that, my next reaction was one much sadder. I hugged him.
I wasgratefulfor receiving my first gift—atsixbloody years old—in that cheap, poorly made hunk of polyester. So blindinglyecstaticthat I’d actually been given something otherthan bruises and pain. In my undeveloped mind, I’m sure I interpreted the gift as a symbol of love. Which of course, it was not.
But I didn’t know that then.
At the time, I was happy. Before that, if I’d wanted to play, I had to pretend. Make up games to entertain myself while sadly looking on at the kids in school who’d carry around their favorite toys, slumping in defeat when I’d see the commercials on television.Action figure thisandBarbie’s Dream that. Shiny plastic with smiling faces to match those of the lucky children who received them.
Naturally, I was jealous, but even that felt like too strong of an emotion most of the time. Usually, I was just numb.
That is, until that faithful day, whenfinally, I got a toy.
Every blow after was softened because, at long last, I had afriend.
If my parents had knownanythingabout me, or bothered to show even the slightest bit of interest in their only child—the way parents are supposed to—they would’ve known that six-year-olds rarely play with stuffed teddy bears, and I was actually quite big on theTeenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.They were my favorites. But since my parents decided to gift me a raggedy bear, that honestly might have been stolen from some other poor kid, I had to, once again, use my imagination.
I found a scrap of blue material and cut out two eyeholes to make his mask, tied two plastic utensils to his back, andvoila!
Leonardo was born.
I took that bear everywhere with me. It wasn’t long before he was even rattier; worn and torn, ripped and tattered from overuse. But I didn’t care. He was my best friend.
Myonlyfriend.
I wasn’t allowed much time with my mates from school. My parents isolated me, for reasons that are quite obvious now. Butat the time, it was difficult. I was a lonely little weirdo, which didn’t get better when I began talking to a stuffed bear.
Still, none of it mattered.Nothingdid. My life was a dark, devastating place. Leo was there for me, as much as he could be, anyway. And all I wanted, theone thingI would wish for late at night, cowering in my bedroom, was for him to come alive.
I wished he wasreal. Ineededhim to be.
And then one day… he was.
“This won’t end well…”
“You sound rather unsupportive for my allegedbest friendof nearly twenty years,” I mutter through gritted teeth.
Leo falls into step beside me while we walk home from the market.“Don’t be snippy. Iamyour best friend, which is why I’m looking out for your best interests. As always.”
“Right. Or maybe you’re jealous.” I stop at a crosswalk, peering at him. “Because you feel like Alice is stealing me away from you.”
He scoffs.“That’s preposterous.”
“Is it?” I lift a brow at his jagged face, only partially hidden by the blue mask. “You know, I’m beginning to think youdon’treally want what’s best for me…”
I take a step forward, but he grabs me by the shirt, stopping me from walking into oncoming traffic.
“You were saying?”He sneers.
I roll my eyes. “Bugger off.”
We keep walking, arguing back and forth, all the way back to my flat. I recognize that my sanity is wearing thin. You might think I’m oblivious to it, but on the contrary.
I’ve always been rather self-aware, andyes, I know how that sounds coming from someone who’s having a full-blown conversation with an imaginary bear. But the fact remains.
I’m not psychotic. I’m not schizophrenic.If I were, I’m sure Dr. Love would have picked up on it.
