Imaginary Friend

by Stephen Chbosky

Genres: Contemporary Fantasy; Literary Fiction

Synopsis

A young boy is haunted by a voice in his head in this "haunting and thrilling" (John Green) epic of literary horror from the number-one New York Times best-selling author of The Perks of Being a Wallflower.

Christopher is seven years old.
Christopher is the new kid in town.
Christopher has an imaginary friend.

We can swallow our fear or let our fear swallow us.

Single mother Kate Reese is on the run. Determined to improve life for her and her son, Christopher, she flees an abusive relationship in the middle of the night with her child. Together, they find themselves drawn to the tight-knit community of Mill Grove, Pennsylvania. It's as far off the beaten track as they can get. Just one highway in, one highway out.

At first, it seems like the perfect place to finally settle down. Then Christopher vanishes. For six awful days, no one can find him. Until Christopher emerges from the woods at the edge of town, unharmed but not unchanged. He returns with a voice in his head only he can hear, with a mission only he can complete: Build a tree house in the woods by Christmas, or his mother and everyone in the town will never be the same again.

Twenty years ago, Stephen Chbosky's The Perks of Being a Wallflower made audiences everywhere feel infinite. Now, Chbosky has returned with an epic work of literary horror, years in the making, whose grand scale and rich emotion redefine the genre. Listen to it with the lights on.

Release date: October 1, 2019

Publisher: Grand Central Publishing

Print pages: 720

Sample

Don’t leave the street. tHey can’t get you if you don’t leave the street.

Little David Olson knew he was in trouble. The minute his mother got back with Dad, he was going to get it. His only hope was the pillow stuffed under his blanket, which made it look like he was still in bed. They did that on TV shows. But none of that mattered now. He had snuck out of his bedroom and climbed down the ivy and slipped and hurt his foot. But it wasn’t too bad. Not like his older brother playing football. This wasn’t too bad.

Little David Olson hobbled down Hays Road. The mist in his face. The fog settling in down the hill. He looked up at the moon. It was full. The second night it had been full in a row. A blue moon. That’s what his big brother told him. Like the song that Mom and Dad danced to sometimes. Back when they were happy. Back before David made them afraid.

Blue Moon.

I saw you standing alone.

Little David Olson heard something in the bushes. For a second, he thought it might be another one of those dreams. But it wasn’t. He knew it wasn’t. He forced himself to stay awake. Even with his headaches. He had to get there tonight.

A car drove past, bathing the fog in headlight. Little David Olson hid behind a mailbox as rock ’n’ roll poured from the old Ford Mustang. A couple of the teenagers laughed. A lot of kids were being drafted into the army, and drunk driving was on the rise. That’s what his dad said anyway.

“David?” a voice whispered. Hisspered. Hisss.

Did someone say it? Or did he just hear it?

“Who’s there?” David said.

Silence.

It must have been in his head. That was okay. At least it wasn’t the hissing lady. At least he wasn’t dreaming.

Or was he?

David looked down the hill at the street corner with the big streetlight on Monterey Drive. The teenagers passed it, taking all the sound with them. That’s when David saw the shadow of a person. A figure stood in the middle of the pool of streetlight. Waiting and whistling. Whistling and waiting. A song that sounded a little like

Blue Moon.

The hairs on the back of David’s neck stood up.

Don’t go near that corner.

Stay away from that person.

Little David Olson cut through the yards instead.

He tiptoed over an old fence. Don’t let them hear you. Or see you. You’re off the street. It’s dangerous. He looked up in a window where a babysitter was making out with her boyfriend while the baby cried. But it sounded like a cat. He was still sure he wasn’t dreaming, but it was getting harder and harder to tell anymore. He climbed under the fence and got wet grass stains on his pajama bottoms. He knew he couldn’t hide them from his mom. He would have to wash them himself. Like how he was starting to wet the bed again. He washed the sheets every morning. He couldn’t let his mother know. She would ask questions. Questions he could not answer.

Not out loud.

He moved through the little woods behind the Maruca house. Past the swing set that Mr. Maruca had put up with his boys. After a hard day’s work, there were always two Oreos and a glass of milk waiting. Little David Olson helped them once or twice. He loved those Oreos. Especially when they got a little soft and old.

“David?”

The whisper was louder now. He looked back. There was no one around. He peeked back past the houses to the streetlight. The shadow person was gone. The figure could be anywhere. It could be right behind him. Oh, please don’t let it be the hissing lady. Please don’t let me be asleep.

Crack.

The twig snapped behind him. Little David Olson forgot about his hurt foot and ran. He cut through the Pruzans’ lawn down onto Carmell Drive and turned left. He could hear dogs panting. Getting closer. But there were no dogs. It was just sounds. Like the dreams. Like the cat baby crying. They were running after him. So, he ran faster. His little booties hitting the wet pavement. Smack smack smack like a grandma’s kiss.

When he finally got to the corner of Monterey Drive, he turned right. He ran in the middle of the street. Like a raft on a river. Don’t leave the street. They can’t get you if you’re on the street. He could hear the noises on either side. Little hisses. And dogs panting. And licking. And baby cats. And those whispers.

“David? Get out of the street. You’ll get hurt. Come to the lawn where it’s safe.”

The voice was the hissing lady. He knew it. She always had a nice voice at first. Like a substitute teacher trying too hard. But when you looked at her, she wasn’t nice anymore. She turned to teeth and a hissing mouth. Worse than the Wicked Witch. Worse than anything. Four legs like a dog. Or a long neck like a giraffe. Hssss.

“David? Your mother hurt her feet. They’re all cut up. Come and help me.”

The hissing lady was using his mom’s voice now. No fair. But she did that. She could even look like her. The first time, it had worked. He went over to her on the lawn. And she grabbed him. He didn’t sleep for two days after that. When she took him to the house with the basement. And that oven.

“Help your mother, you little shit.”

His grandma’s voice now. But not his grandma. David could feel the hissing lady’s white teeth. Don’t look at them. Just keep looking ahead. Keep running. Get to the cul-de-sac. You can make her go away forever. Get to the last streetlight.

“Hsssssss.”

David Olson looked ahead to the last streetlight in the cul-de-sac. And then, he stopped.

The shadow person was back.

The figure stood in the middle of the pool of streetlight. Waiting and whistling. Whistling and waiting. Dream or no dream, this was bad. But David could not stop now. It was all up to him. He was going to have to walk past the streetlight person to get to the meeting place.

“Hiiiiiissssssssss.”

The hissing lady was closer. Behind him. David Olson suddenly felt cold. His pajamas damp. Even with the overcoat. Just keep walking. That’s all he could do. Be brave like his big brother. Be brave like the teenagers being drafted. Be brave and keep walking. One little step. Two little steps.

“Hello?” said Little David Olson.

The figure said nothing. The figure did not move. Just breathed in and out, its breath making

Clouds.

“Hello? Who are you?” David asked.

Silence. The world holding its breath. Little David Olson put a little toe into the pool of light. The figure stirred.

“I’m sorry, but I need to pass. Is that okay?”

Again there was silence. David inched his toe into the light. The figure began to turn. David thought about going back home, but he had to finish. It was the only way to stop her. He put his whole foot into the light. The figure turned again. A statue waking up. His whole leg. Another turn. Finally, David couldn’t take it, and he entered the light. The figure ran at him. Moaning. Its arm reaching out. David ran through the circle. The figure behind him. Licking. Screaming. David felt its long nails reaching, and just as it was going to grab his hair, David slid on the hard pavement like in baseball. He tore up his knee, but it didn’t matter. He was out of the light. The figure stopped moving. David was at the end of the street. The cul-de-sac with the log cabin and the newlywed couple.

Little David Olson looked off the road. The night was silent. Some crickets. A little bit of fog that lit the path to the trees. David was terrified, but he couldn’t stop. It was all up to him. He had to finish or the hissing lady would get out. And his big brother would be the first to die.

Little David Olson left the street and walked.

Past the fence.

Through the field.

And into the Mission Street Woods.

Chapter 1

Am I dreaming?

That’s what the little boy thought when the old Ford station wagon hit a speed bump and knocked him awake. He had that feeling of being cozy in bed, but suddenly needing to go to the bathroom. His eyes squinted in the sun, and he looked out over the Ohio Turnpike. The steam from the August heat came off it like waves at the pool that Mom took him to after saving up by skipping lunches for a while. “I lost three pounds,” she said and winked. That was one of the good days.

He rubbed his tired eyes and sat up in the passenger seat. He loved riding in the front seat when his mom drove. He felt like he belonged to a club. A special club with him and this cool skinny lady. He looked over at her, framed by the morning sun. Her skin was sticking to the hot vinyl seat. Her shoulders red around her halter top. Her skin pale just under the cutoffs. She had her cigarette in one hand, and she looked glamorous. Like the old movie stars in their Friday Night Movies together. He loved how the ends of her cigarettes had red lipstick. The teachers back in Denver said cigarettes were bad for you. When he told his mom that, she joked that teachers were bad for you and kept on smoking.

“Actually, teachers are important, so forget I ever said that,” she said.

“Okay,” he said.

He watched her stub out her cigarette and light another instantly. She only did that when she was worried. She was always worried when they moved. Maybe it would be different this time. That’s what she always said since Dad died. This time it will be different. Even though it never was.

And this time, they were running.

She took a drag, and the smoke curled up past the beads of August sweat on her upper lip. She peered out over the steering wheel, deep in thought. It took her a full minute to realize he was awake. And then, she smiled.

“Isn’t this a great morning?” she whispered.

The boy didn’t care about mornings at all. But his mom did. So he did.

“Yeah, Mom. It sure is.”

He always called her Mom now. She told him to stop calling her Mommy three years earlier. She said it made him small, and she never wanted her son to be small. Sometimes, she told him to show her his muscles. And he would take his skinny little arms and strain to make his biceps be anything other than flat. Strong like his dad in that Christmas picture. The one picture he had.

“You hungry, buddy?” she asked.

The boy nodded.

“There’s a rest stop right up the turnpike over the state line. I’m sure there’s a diner there.”

“Will they have chocolate chip pancakes?”

The boy remembered the chocolate chip pancakes back in Portland. That was two years ago. There was a diner under their apartment in the city. And the cook always gave them chocolate chip pancakes. There had been Denver and Michigan since. But he never forgot those pancakes or the nice man who made them. He didn’t know men other than his dad could be nice until him.

“If they don’t, we’ll get some M&M’s and throw them in the middle of the stack. Okay?”

The little boy was worried now. He had never heard her say that. Not even when they moved. She always felt guilty when they moved. But even on her guiltiest day, she told him that chocolate was not a breakfast food. Even when she had her chocolate SlimFast shakes for breakfast, she told him that. And no, those shakes do not count as chocolate. He had asked her that already.

“Okay,” he said and smiled, hoping this wasn’t a one-time thing.

He looked back at the turnpike. The traffic slowed as they saw an ambulance and a station wagon. The emergency men wrapped a man’s bloody head with gauze. He looked like he cut his forehead and might be missing some teeth. When they drove a little farther, they could see the deer on the station wagon’s hood. The antler was still stuck in the windshield. The eyes of the deer were open. And it struggled and twitched like it didn’t know it was dying.

“Don’t look at it,” his mom said.

“Sorry,” he replied and looked away.

She didn’t like him to see bad things. He had seen them too much in his life. Especially since his dad died. So, he looked away and studied her hair under her scarf. The one she called a bandanna, but the little boy liked to think of it as a scarf like the ones in the old movies they watched on Movie Fridays. He looked at her hair and his own brown hair like his dad’s in the one picture he had from Christmas. He didn’t remember much about his father. Not even his voice. Just the smell of tobacco on his shirt and the smell of Noxzema shaving cream. That was it. He didn’t know anything about his father other than he must have been a great man because that’s what all fathers were. Great men.

“Mom?” the little boy asked. “Are you okay?”

She put on her best smile. But her face was afraid. Like it had been eight hours ago when she woke him up in the middle of the night and told him to pack his things.

“Hurry,” she whispered.

The little boy did as he was told. He threw everything he had into his sleeping bag. When he tiptoed into the living room, he saw Jerry passed out on the sofa. Jerry was rubbing his eyes with his fingers. The ones with the tattoos. For a moment, Jerry almost woke up. But he didn’t. And while Jerry was passed out, they got in the car. With the money in the glove compartment that Jerry didn’t know about. Jerry had taken everything else. In the quiet of night, they drove away. For the first hour, she looked at the rearview mirror more than she did the road.

“Mom? Will he find us?” the little boy asked.

“No,” she said and lit another cigarette.

The little boy looked up at his mom. And in the morning light, he finally saw that her red cheek was not from makeup. And this feeling came over him. He said it to himself.

You cannot fail.

It was his promise. He looked at his mother and thought, I will protect you. Not like when he was really little and couldn’t do anything. He was bigger now. And his arms wouldn’t always be flat and skinny. He would do push-ups. He would be bigger for her. He would protect her. For his dad.

You cannot fail.

You must protect your mother.

You are the man of the house.

He looked out the window and saw an old billboard shaped like a keystone. The weathered sign said YOU’VE GOT A FRIEND IN PENNSYLVANIA. And maybe his mother was right. Maybe it would be different this time. It was their third state in two years. Maybe this time, it would work out. Either way, he knew he could never let her down.

Christopher was seven and a half years old.

Chapter 2

They had been in Pennsylvania for a week when it happened.

Christopher’s mother said she chose the little town of Mill Grove because it was small and safe and had a great elementary school. But deep down, Christopher thought maybe she picked it because it seemed tucked away from the rest of the world. One highway in. One highway out. Surrounded by trees. They didn’t know anyone there. And if no one knew them, Jerry couldn’t find them.

Mill Grove was a great hiding place.

All she needed was a job. Every morning, Christopher watched his mom put on lipstick and comb her hair all nice. He watched her put on her smart-looking glasses and fret about the hole under the right armpit in her only interview blazer. The rip was in the fabric, not the seam. So, there was nothing to do except throw on a safety pin and pray.

After he ate his Froot Loops, she would take him over to the public library to pick out his book for the day while she looked over the want ads in the paper. The book of the day was his “fee” for eating Froot Loops. If he read a book to practice his words, he got them. If he didn’t, he got Cream of Wheat (or worse). So, he made sure to read that book, boy.

Once Mom had written down a few promising leads, they would climb back in the car and drive around to different interviews. She told Christopher that she wanted him to come along so they could have an adventure. Just the two of them. She said the old Ford was a land shark, and they were looking for prey. The truth was that there was no money for a babysitter, but he didn’t care because he was with his mom.

So, they went “land sharking,” and as she drove, she would grill him on the state capitals. And math problems. And vocabulary.

“Mill Grove Elementary School is really nice. They have a computer lab and everything. You’re going to love second grade.”

No matter where they lived, Christopher’s mother hunted for great public schools the way other moms hunted for bargains on soda (they called it “pop” here in Mill Grove for some reason). And this time, she said, he would have the best. The motel was near a great school district. She promised to drive him every day so he wouldn’t be called a “motel kid” until she saved enough to get them an apartment. She said she wanted him to have the education she never got. And it was okay that he struggled. This was going to be the grade when he’d be better at math. This was the year that all of his hard work would pay off, and he would stop switching letters when he read. And he smiled and believed her because she believed in him.

Then, when she got to each interview, she would take her own private moment and say some words she read in her self-improvement books because she was trying to believe in herself, too.

“They want to love you.”

“You decide this is your job. Not them.”

When she was finally confident, they’d go into the building. Christopher would sit in the waiting rooms and read his book like she wanted, but the letters kept switching, and his mind would wander, and he would think about his old friends. He missed Michigan. If it weren’t for Jerry, he would have loved to stay in Michigan forever. The kids were nice there. And everyone was poor, so nobody knew it. And his best friend, Lenny “the Loon” Cordisco, was funny and pulled down his pants all the time in front of the nuns in CCD. Christopher wondered what Lenny Cordisco was doing now. Probably getting yelled at by Sister Jacqueline again.

After each interview was over, Christopher’s mother would come out with a shaken look on her face that acknowledged that it really was their decision to hire her. Not hers. But there was nothing to do but climb back in the car and try again. She said that the world can try to take anything from you.

But you have to give it your pride.

On the sixth day, his mother pulled into the middle of town in front of a parking meter and took out her trusty paper bag. The one that said OUT OF ORDER on it. She threw it on the meter and told Christopher that stealing was bad, but parking tickets were worse. She’d make it up to the world when she got back on her feet.

Normally, Christopher had to go into the waiting room to read his book. But on the sixth day, there was a sheriff and his deputy eating across the street in a diner. She called out to them and asked if they were going to be there for a while. They gave her a salute and said they’d keep an eye on her boy. So, as a reward for his reading, she let Christopher in the little park while she went into the old folks home to interview for a job. To Christopher’s eyes, the name of the home read like…

Sahdy Pnies

“Shady Pines,” she corrected. “If you need anything, call out to the sheriff.”

Christopher went to the swings. There was a little caterpillar on the seat. He knew Lenny Cordisco would have smushed it. But Christopher felt bad when people killed small things. So, he got a leaf and put the caterpillar under a tree where it would be cool and safe. Then, he got back on the swings and started to pull. He may not have been able to make a muscle. But boy could he jump.

As he began to swing, he looked up at the clouds. There were dozens of them. They all had different shapes. There was one that looked like a bear. And one that looked like a dog. He saw shapes of birds. And trees. But there was one cloud that was more beautiful than all the rest.

The one that looked like a face.

Not a man. Not a woman. Just a handsome pretty face made of clouds.

And it was smiling at him.

He let go of the swing and jumped.

Christopher pretended that he landed on the warning track. Top of the ninth. Two outs. A circus catch. Tigers win! But Christopher was near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, now. And it was time to switch teams so the kids would like him. Go Pirates!

After ten minutes of swinging, his mother came out. But this time, there was no shaken look. There was only a big smile.

“Did you get the job?” Christopher asked.

“We’re having Chinese tonight.”

After she thanked the sheriff for his help, and was warned about her OUT OF ORDER bag, she got her son back in the land shark and took him out for Movie Night. Friday was their night. She wouldn’t miss it. Not for anything. And this was going to be the best one in a long time. No Jerry. Just their special club with only two members. Junk food. And old movies from the library.

So, they drove to the 7-Eleven to play her numbers like they did every Friday. After picking up some beer, they went back to the library to get Christopher his two practice books for the weekend and a couple of videos for their night. Why do people pay for things that are free? They went to China Gate like the sheriff said since cops know food better than anyone, and she gasped when she saw the prices, but tried her best to hide her expression from him. Then, she smiled. She said she had a little left on the Visa that Jerry didn’t know about, and in a week, she’d have a paycheck. And as they drove back to the motel, with the smell of Egg Rolls and Orange Chicken and Christopher’s favorite Lo Mein (Chinese Spaghetti you like! said the menu), they planned what they would do with the lottery money like they did every Friday before they lost.

Christopher said he would buy her a house. He even made blueprint plans with graph paper. Christopher had video games and a candy room. A basketball court and a petting zoo off the kitchen. All painstakingly planned. But the best room was his mom’s. It was the biggest one in the house. It had a balcony with a diving board that went to her own private pool. And it had the biggest closet with the nicest clothes that weren’t ripped under the arm.

“What would you do with the money, Mom?” he asked.

“I’d get you a tutor and all the books in the world.”

“Mine is better,” he said.

When they got home, the mini fridge in the motel room wasn’t working too well, so her beer was not getting cold in time for their feast. So, as she watched the lottery on the little television, Christopher went to the ice maker down the hall. And Christopher did the thing he learned from the old movies they watched. He got some ice and poured her beer over it to make it cold for her.

“Here, Mom. On the rocks.”

He didn’t know why she laughed so hard, but he was glad to see her so happy.

*

Christopher’s mother sipped her beer on the rocks, and made yum yum sounds until her son beamed with pride for his clever—if somewhat misguided—solution to her warm beer problem. After her lottery numbers came up short…AGAIN…she tore up the lottery ticket and put a DVD in the old player she got at a garage sale back in Michigan. The first movie started. It was an old musical she loved as a kid. One of her few good memories. Now one of his. When their feast was done, and the Von Trapps were safely in Switzerland, they opened their fortune cookies.

“What’s yours say, Mom?” he asked.

“You will be fortunate in everything you put your hands on.”

…in bed, she thought and did not say.

“What about yours, buddy?” she asked.

“Mine is blank.”

She looked. His fortune was indeed blank except for a series of numbers. He looked so disappointed. The cookies were bad enough. But no fortune?

“This is actually good luck,” she said.

“Really?”

“No fortune is the best fortune. Now you get to make up your own. Wanna trade?”

He thought about it long and hard and said, “No.”

With negotiations over, it was time for the second movie. Before the film had finished, and the good guys had won the war, Christopher had fallen asleep on her lap. She sat there for a long time, looking down at him sleeping. She thought back to the Friday Night Movies when they watched Dracula, and he pretended he wasn’t scared even though he would only wear turtleneck sweaters for a month.

There is a moment childhood ends, she thought. And she wanted his moment to happen a long time from now. She wanted her son to be smart enough to get out of this nightmare, but not smart enough to know that he was actually inside one.

She picked up her sleeping boy and took him to his sleeping bag. She kissed his forehead and instinctively checked to make sure he didn’t have a fever. Then, she went back to the kitchenette. And when she finished her beer on the rocks, she made another just like it. Because she realized she was going to remember this night.

The night she stopped running.

It had been four years.

Four years since she found her husband dead in a bathtub with a lot of blood and no note. Four years of grief and rage and behavior that felt out of body. But enough was enough. Stop running. Stop smoking. Stop killing yourself. Your kid deserves better. So do you. No more debt. No more bad men. Just the peace of a life well fought and won. A parent with a job is a hero to someone. Even if that job was cleaning up after old people in a retirement home.

She took her beer on the rocks out on the fire escape. She felt the cool breeze. And she wished it weren’t so late or she’d play her favorite Springsteen and pretend she was a hero.

As she finished her drink and the last cigarette she’d ever light, she was content, watching the smoke curl and disappear into the August night and the beautiful stars behind that big cloud.

That cloud that looked like a smiling face.

Chapter 3

The week after his mom got the job was the best Christopher had in a long time. Every morning, he looked out the window and saw the Laundromat across the street. And the telephone pole. And the streetlight with the little tree.

And the clouds.

They were always there. There was something comforting about them. Like the way that leather baseball gloves smell. Or the time Christopher’s mom made Lipton soup instead of Campbell’s because Christopher liked the little noodles better. The clouds made him feel safe. Whether he and his mom were buying school supplies or clothes, erasers or stationery. The clouds were there. And his mom was happy. And there was no school.

Until Monday.

The minute he woke up Monday, Christopher saw the cloud face was gone. He didn’t know where it went, but he was sad. Because today was the day. The one day he really needed the clouds to comfort him.

The first day of school.

Christopher could never tell his mom the truth. She worked so hard to get him into these great schools that he felt guilty for even thinking it. But the truth was he hated school. He didn’t mind not knowing anyone. He was used to that. But there was this other part that made him nervous about going to a new school. Simply put,

He was dumb.

He might have been a great kid, but he was a terrible student. He would have preferred it if she had yelled at him for being dumb, like Lenny Cordisco’s mom. But she didn’t. Even when he brought home his failed math tests, she always said the same thing.

“Don’t worry. Keep trying. You’ll get it.”

But he did worry. Because he didn’t get it. And he knew he never would. Especially at a hard school like Mill Grove Elementary.

“Hey. We’re going to be late for your first day. Finish your breakfast.”

As Christopher finished his Froot Loops, he tried to practice reading the back of the box. Bad Cat was the cartoon on it. Bad Cat was the most funniest cartoon on Saturday mornings. Even in this cereal box version, he was hilarious. Bad Cat went up to a construction site and stole some hard hat man’s sandwich. He ate it all up. And when they caught him, he said his famous line.

“Sorry. Were you going to finish that?”

But this morning, Christopher was too nervous to laugh at the cartoon. So, he immediately looked for other things to distract himself. His eyes found the carton of milk. There was a picture of a missing girl. She was smiling without her two front teeth. Her name was Emily Bertovich. That’s what Christopher’s mom told him. To him, the name looked like…

Eimyl Bretvocih.

“We’re late. Let’s go, buddy,” Mom said.

Christopher drank the little bit of sugar milk left in the bowl for courage, then zipped up his red hoodie. As they drove to school, Christopher listened to his mother explain how “technically” they didn’t exactly “live” in the school district, so she kind of “lied” that her work address was their residence.

“So, don’t tell anyone we live in the motel, okay?”

“Okay,” he said.

As the car rolled over the hills, Christopher looked at the different sections of town. The cars in the front lawns on blocks. Houses with chipped paint and missing shingles. The pickup truck with the sleepaway camper in the driveway for hunting trips. Kind of like Michigan. Then, they moved to the nicer section. Big stone houses. Manicured lawns. Shiny cars in the driveways. He would have to add that to the graph paper sketch of his mom’s house.

As they drove, Christopher searched the sky for clouds. They were gone, but he did see something he liked. No matter the neighborhood, it was always close by. Big and beautiful with tons of trees. All green and pretty. For a moment, he thought he saw something run into it. Fast as lightning. He wasn’t sure what. Maybe a deer.

“Mom, what is that?” he asked.

“The Mission Street Woods,” she said.

When they arrived at school, Christopher’s mother wanted to giv