before bedtime.
“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.
“Ronny,” Patrick said.
“Ronny Sinbilt,” Karen giggled. The kids shared a magnificently childish laugh, as if they were the private participants in an off color joke that was too funny for words.
“Come on,” Rebecca insisted. “Share it with me, guys.”
“Ronny looks in on us to make sure we’re safe,” Karen said. “After you and Daddy go downstairs.”
“Uh huh,” Rebecca said. “And how do you know that’s what he’s doing?”
“He told us,” Karen said.
“We asked him who he was and that’s what he said he was doing,” Patrick answered. Bill came into the living room from the kitchen, tuning curiously into the conversation.
“And you’ve both seen him?” Rebecca asked. “This same dude?”
The kids nodded in unison. Patrick said that he had seen him first.
“But then I saw him real soon after that,” Karen added. Bill listened to this and looked from boy to girl and then back again.
“Uh, huh. Right,” he said.
“And he’s a big guy? Like an adult?” Rebecca pressed. The kids agreed that he was a nice man with shaggy brown hair, dark pants, and a white shirt. There was disagreement about the rest of his description, however, but they did agree that he lived in the turret room.
“How do you know he lives there?”
“That’s where he comes from,” Patrick said.
“And that’s where he goes to,” Karen said.
“And doesn’t the smell bother him?”
They shook their beautiful young heads. Rebecca always marveled at how gorgeous, fresh, and fair her two young ones were.
“Oh, no,” Patrick said.
“I asked him that,” Karen added, “and he says he
likes
that bad smell.”
More laughter. Both kids. Ronny or
anyone
actually liking that sour acrid stench was a real thigh slapper.
“And, uh,” Rebecca asked, feeling her way along, “Ronny visits every night?”
The children looked at each other.
“Not every night,” her son said, hedging slightly. “Only sometimes.”
“Well,” Rebecca said, rising to the moment. “Let’s go upstairs now and see if we see him. I’d like to meet Ronny, too.”
Again in unison, they answered. “Okay.” They were enthusiastic about introducing Mom to their friend.
Bill bailed out of the event, giving Rebecca a bemused raised eyebrow and a bored but understanding smile. Kids! She walked upstairs hand in hand with her small brood.
Nope. No Ronny this evening. Not visible, anyway.
The kids brushed their teeth and put their pajamas on. Bill came upstairs and prepared a bedtime story for two. Something about a rabbit running through the woods and stopping for a carrot and lettuce pizza — hold the cheese, please! — on the way home.
Rebecca took the moment to walk over to the turret room and glance in. There was only a mild hint of the smell that had been bothering her. Otherwise, the room was empty, awaiting renovation, renewal and its eventual salvation.
And still no Ronny.
“Yoo hoo,” Rebecca finally called to the empty chamber. But no imaginary guy tonight. Then both parents kissed their children goodnight and went back downstairs.
“An imaginary friend?” Rebecca asked softly, not wanting to be heard upstairs. “With a name?” She shook her head.
“The only imaginary Ronny that I knew of in Southern California was the former president,” Bill grumbled, hardly looking up from his laptop.
“It is a little creepy, isn’t it?” Rebecca said.
“What is?” Bill asked.
“An imaginary friend. With quite so much detail.”
“Didn’t you have one when you were a kid?” Bill asked.
“Have what?”
“An imaginary friend, with or without a lot of detail.” She thought about it.
“Yeah. I did,” Rebecca admitted. “She was a girl my age.”
“Did she have a name?” Bill still wasn’t looking up.
“Her name was Sally,” Rebecca admitted.
“Then what bothers you about Ronny?” Bill asked.
“I find it a little
“What are you guys talking about?” she asked.
“Ronny,” Patrick said.
“Ronny Sinbilt,” Karen giggled. The kids shared a magnificently childish laugh, as if they were the private participants in an off color joke that was too funny for words.
“Come on,” Rebecca insisted. “Share it with me, guys.”
“Ronny looks in on us to make sure we’re safe,” Karen said. “After you and Daddy go downstairs.”
“Uh huh,” Rebecca said. “And how do you know that’s what he’s doing?”
“He told us,” Karen said.
“We asked him who he was and that’s what he said he was doing,” Patrick answered. Bill came into the living room from the kitchen, tuning curiously into the conversation.
“And you’ve both seen him?” Rebecca asked. “This same dude?”
The kids nodded in unison. Patrick said that he had seen him first.
“But then I saw him real soon after that,” Karen added. Bill listened to this and looked from boy to girl and then back again.
“Uh, huh. Right,” he said.
“And he’s a big guy? Like an adult?” Rebecca pressed. The kids agreed that he was a nice man with shaggy brown hair, dark pants, and a white shirt. There was disagreement about the rest of his description, however, but they did agree that he lived in the turret room.
“How do you know he lives there?”
“That’s where he comes from,” Patrick said.
“And that’s where he goes to,” Karen said.
“And doesn’t the smell bother him?”
They shook their beautiful young heads. Rebecca always marveled at how gorgeous, fresh, and fair her two young ones were.
“Oh, no,” Patrick said.
“I asked him that,” Karen added, “and he says he
likes
that bad smell.”
More laughter. Both kids. Ronny or
anyone
actually liking that sour acrid stench was a real thigh slapper.
“And, uh,” Rebecca asked, feeling her way along, “Ronny visits every night?”
The children looked at each other.
“Not every night,” her son said, hedging slightly. “Only sometimes.”
“Well,” Rebecca said, rising to the moment. “Let’s go upstairs now and see if we see him. I’d like to meet Ronny, too.”
Again in unison, they answered. “Okay.” They were enthusiastic about introducing Mom to their friend.
Bill bailed out of the event, giving Rebecca a bemused raised eyebrow and a bored but understanding smile. Kids! She walked upstairs hand in hand with her small brood.
Nope. No Ronny this evening. Not visible, anyway.
The kids brushed their teeth and put their pajamas on. Bill came upstairs and prepared a bedtime story for two. Something about a rabbit running through the woods and stopping for a carrot and lettuce pizza — hold the cheese, please! — on the way home.
Rebecca took the moment to walk over to the turret room and glance in. There was only a mild hint of the smell that had been bothering her. Otherwise, the room was empty, awaiting renovation, renewal and its eventual salvation.
And still no Ronny.
“Yoo hoo,” Rebecca finally called to the empty chamber. But no imaginary guy tonight. Then both parents kissed their children goodnight and went back downstairs.
“An imaginary friend?” Rebecca asked softly, not wanting to be heard upstairs. “With a name?” She shook her head.
“The only imaginary Ronny that I knew of in Southern California was the former president,” Bill grumbled, hardly looking up from his laptop.
“It is a little creepy, isn’t it?” Rebecca said.
“What is?” Bill asked.
“An imaginary friend. With quite so much detail.”
“Didn’t you have one when you were a kid?” Bill asked.
“Have what?”
“An imaginary friend, with or without a lot of detail.” She thought about it.
“Yeah. I did,” Rebecca admitted. “She was a girl my age.”
“Did she have a name?” Bill still wasn’t looking up.
“Her name was Sally,” Rebecca admitted.
“Then what bothers you about Ronny?” Bill asked.
“I find it a little
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