A dear friend of mine was recently told to grow up, to leave Never-never Land and to come into the real world. I was instantly indignant. If they were in Never-never land, why didn’t they visit me? I’ve been living in Never-never Land for years!
Somewhere in those strange teenage years between twelve and twenty three, people lose interest in games, stories, and imaginary adventures. Instead, they start doing sports, going on dates, working jobs, and going to college, all the while leaving their imaginations behind. They leave Never-never Land, usually for good. I say, booorriiiinnng! I think aliens must sneak into their bedrooms at night to catch stray imaginations, kind of like a fisherman tossing a bait and line into a pond.
Maybe it happens a little like this.
One summer night, two aliens, Glorp and his son Ned, park their spaceship outside the window of my thirteen year old self. The night is perfect for fishing, with a sky full of stars and the air warm enough for my window to be standing open. The frogs and toads singing in the nearby pond cover the sound as Glorp opens the screen. It’s Ned’s first fishing trip and he’s so excited that he almost knocks his father off the window sill as they climb inside.
“Ugh,” says Ned. “It’s so hair and weird looking!”
“That’s a dog,” Glorp says with a yawn, still tired from being woken up for such an early trip. “The human is the pink one.”
“Ugh, he’s even weirder looking!”
“Shh!” Glorp warns as he takes out his tackle box and pole. He pulls out a hook and stares at the line, trying to remember how to tie a fisherman’s knot. “Your mother wants me to mow the asteroid today, so if you want to learn how to catch imaginations, this is your only chance. If you spook him, you’ll have to wait until next weekend.”
“Can I hold the line dad?” Ned asks as Glorp baits the hook and drops it into a likely part of my head. Glorp relents and the little alien rubs his green fingered hands together in glee. His enormous eyes grow even bigger as he takes the pole and feels a sharp tug on the fishing wire. “I’ve got a bite! I’ve got a bite! What do I do?”
“Reel it in gently N – “ Glorp is cut off as the overexcited Ned gives a mighty tug, whipping the piece of grey matter through the air, where it lands with a splat on his father’s head.
“I caught it, I caught it!” cries Ned as Glorp unhooks their prize and stuffs it in a cooler.
“Good job son,” he says, putting an arm around Ned’s shoulders as they return to their spaceship. “Now, how would you like to learn to drive an asteroid mower?”
I don’t know what kind of bait they used, but my imagination didn’t bite. I think they took the part of my brain that understood algebra instead. Thankfully, the little shreds that the aliens leave behind can be regrown, though I’ve never quite figured out how to regrow what I need to understand algebra.
Imaginations on the other hand, are relatively easy to regrow. My favorite method is to sneak up behind the subject and shout “Boo!” thus restarting the imagination through sheer shock. You do however run the risk of stopping and restarting several of the subject’s other organs at the same time. Depending on their temperament, you may put a few of your own organs at risk too.
Now, since my imagination is fully intact, no scares needed thank you, so I’ll be in my office (blanket fort) with a good cup of coffee (hot cocoa), working on a very important essay (ridiculous story about a dream I had once).
Within the Endless Skies 