bee

He told me a story about a man who fell off a cliff  into the ocean because the dog he was walking chased a bee over the cliff. The dog and man were air lifted from a helicopter to safety. They both survived.

Naturally this isn't quite accurate. The man didn't go over the cliff with the dog. The dog wasn't chasing a bee, it was chasing a rabbit.

The dog didn't die, it was lifted to safety by 4 people pulling a harness. 

I like his version better. 

He says things that make me laugh and I like it when he becomes shy. 

To be truthful, he's the best part of my day. 

When I was little I didn't have imaginary friends, I did however imagine a life that was very different from my own. On a car ride I would pretend we were driving to a funeral or a party. 

In the shower I would pretend I was a mermaid who was stranded on land and couldn't go back to the sea. 

I had several acceptance speeches written, perfected and performed in my room for The Oscars, the Pulitzer, the Grammy's. 

I pretended I was the president. 

A political prisoner. 

The pope. 

Dustin Hoffman. 

Or someone who just won the lottery and was speaking at a press conference. 

I wish I could say this wild imagining was phased out. It hasn't. Sometimes I'll be driving and I'll tell myself I'm driving to the airport, and I'm going to start a new life in a far away land. I'm going to ride a horse on the shore of an ocean I've never seen. I'm going to learn how to cook fancy meals and feed lots of people I don't know yet, but who will love me. 

I think about what I'll wear and who I'll send postcards to. I'll imagine my mom crying and my sister making a stupid face. I imagine how I'll change my voicemail message, "Hi, I'm not here anymore, I've started a new life in a faraway land, leave a message and I'll send you a postcard." 

I imagine what my friends will say and the declarations of love that will be professed and to which I'll reply, "I'm sorry, you're too late, I'm in love with a foreigner with long hair and a cool accent. Love someone else, you'll get over me."

Sometimes I'll imagine the warmth of his hand on mine or how his lips would feel against my lips. I wonder what Sunday evenings would be like or what we would do for my birthday. 

And then a car behind me will honk and I'll remember I've been daydreaming too long at a traffic light again.