People Talked About Her

She sat on the couch away from the party, the guests whispering about her. She’s known to have talked to imaginary creatures—some all soot-black, their eyes fire-red and sunshine-yellow, others bright pink, baby-blue and icing-white, their eyes sky-blue—while at work, at the park, at Panera, at home and even on neighborhood walks.

When they hear she’s discussing a book with one of the good characters, they look at her a minute, nod their head and retreat into the house, lips pursed and minds wondering. It’s like she’s still in her own fantasy world even though she’s talking to a real person. She even went up to someone at work and asked them their fairy name.

I was like, does she not know that she’s not in a fantasy book? It’s weird how she talks to her so-called friends, bending down in the office hallway, speaking to literally no one. Co-workers stare, their minds obviously wondering who she’s talking to. The boss looks at some employees, raising an eyebrow. Cocks an eyebrow, and then shakes her head, returning to handing out reports for the week.

But I think she just doesn’t know the difference between reality and her own dreams she puts onto paper. I think she still thinks she’s sleeping, like she’s sleepwalking. I just pray.

I pray for her soul. I pray she realizes the difference between reality and dreams.

The woman, KP, never tells us what KP stands for. It’s just KP. It’s not Kathryn, or Katie, or Katrina or Katarina or Kay. And P doesn’t stand for Patricia, Portia, Petunia or Penny. Or Penelope. Just P. I saw her in the grocery store one time, and she was waving her arms, going on and on about some fairy who was only floating gently through the springtime world when, all of a sudden, a dark fairy swoops in, rams its fists upon this poor creature and steals its precious bouquet of flowers! KP even had tears in her eyes. The customer in front of her was looking at her like she was crazy. I wanted to go up to her and tell her this myself, but I didn’t want to embarrass her.

One day, when she was sitting on a bench in the neighborhood, she was gesturing to one of her invisible friends—no one else was sitting on the bench—about her stupid fantasy adventures she said she had that day—

I didn’t see a portal door, or a magical entrance of some kind, or a dragon taking her away, or some witch grabbing her or thief crashing into her life. I went outside. Approaching her with crossed arms, I sat down where she claimed her fairy friend was. “Look, KP, I don’t know whether you’re on some adventure in your mind, or you’re with imaginary friends. But I’m not interested in your little stories. I couldn’t care less, and people don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re weird!”

Her eyes were huge, her arms were waving. But she continued about battling a dark fairy alongside a good fairy. I said she needed friends. If she needed me, we could go jogging, she could become a member at my gym or join my women’s care group. She could even sing with me in the ladies’ choir.

“Ma’am, no one’s listening. You’re talking to thin air. Everyone stares at you. You’re in your own little world. My office is full of employees who whisper about you. Every party, guests are confused—how are you talking to invisible little creature? So…” I shrugged my shoulders. “So…stop! It’s weird.”

I continued jogging. When I got home, my husband and I greeted each other, but he said he had to go back to the office for some tax work. I sighed—he’d then play basketball with his two best friends from work. He claimed it was only once a week. He promised he’d be home for dinner.

“Okay…”

“Babe, please. You know I love you, but I also work out.”

“Would it kill you to eat dinner with your wife, sometimes?”

“Can’t play a game alone, you know?” And he darted upstairs, and was out the door ten minutes later, gym bag slung over his shoulder. He had kissed me on the cheek real quick. Just like that.

I had watched him go, and then locked the front door. Getting some ice cream from the freezer, I dumped some into a bowl. After topping it with whipped cream, cherries and some sprinkles, I twisted the can in my hand. The expiration date had been stamped two years ago. I smirked. So? Our marriage was so last year. He doesn’t even mean what he says. I grab a spoon from the utensil drawer, strut over to the couch, manipulate the remote and lay back, my treat in my hand and a show on TV.

It felt like hours before he came home. When I heard a knock on the front door, I groaned. Go away!

When the knocking persisted, I forced myself to set the nearly empty bowl on the coffee table and answer the front door. Muttering to myself sarcastically, I was all prepared to give my husband the talk he deserved. Unlocking the front door and flicking on the front porch lights, I was surprised to see KP.

“Yes?”

She had tears in her eyes. “Can I t-talk with you?” She sounded like she was on the verge of crying. I nodded.

“Of course, of course!”

We sat outside on the two wicker cushioned chairs, KP spilling her heart to a complete stranger. Finally, she squeezed my shoulder. “You’re the only one who let me say what I wanted without me ever having to hide who I truly was.”

I smiled sincerely, putting a hand on her back as she got up to assumedly go home. “Hey—if there’s anything I can do, please let me know. I’m right here. You part of the neighborhood? I see you sitting on one of those benches over there.”

“Yes—I live a little ways down the road.”

“Okay, well, I think we should talk soon!”

Walking her home, I listened as she talked a little more about her fairy creatures and how they came alive to her during the day and went to sleep at night. I nodded, agreeing. When she turned onto her front porch steps, she stopped and thanked me. With a soft smile, she said she’ll be jogging in the morning.

I said I’d think about it.

“Okay!”

When she had went into her house, I walked away, slowly, pondering whether I should befriend her or just be there for her when she needed it most. I knew I was lonely a lot, too. I had friends, but I guess I could include others. I found myself ignoring the nerd or laughing with gossipy Spencer and Melanie at the quiet coworker down the hall.

I smiled a little, not caring who saw. Even my husband asked me as we made our bed what I was smiling about.

“Oh,” I shrugged, “just someone who touched my heart tonight.”

As I told him of that weird woman, KP, my husband lost interest. He was always thinking about something else. His eyes drifted, his mind unfocused. It hurt me. I don’t even think he loved me that much—he loved getting out. When he refocused, I told him again, but he interrupted with a story about basketball.

“Man, what a game—I shot a three-pointer right into the basket, and then MJ drives the ball right into the basket, and I’m like, ‘How’d you do that, man?’ And he’s all, ‘Well, playing since third grade, man. I could show you a little bit’…”

As he rambled, I thought of KP. She didn’t need to talk to imaginary creatures—they weren’t there. I loudly proclaimed something I did tonight, but my husband nodded lamely, retreating into the bathroom. I heard the shower. Oh yeah, he always showered after basketball. I grunted.

I snuck out of bed that night, grabbing my keys and driving away. I smiled, free. Free from my ignorant husband, from worrying about some crazy lady talking to herself. I even laughed aloud. My husband wouldn’t even notice. He’d be out the door by five tomorrow, talking to himself, too!

I hit three stoplights, slammed on my brakes on four different occasion as oblivious drivers gave me dirty looks like I should be guilty of cutting people off and drove onto random streets sometimes, not caring whether I ended up in a sketchy neighborhood. Due to my extremely dark skin tone, I blended into the darkness. When I did arrive at a gas station, I realized I had my husband’s credit card in my wallet. Bursting inside with excitement, I entered the convenience store, trying so hard to hold myself down. When I approached the counter with an armful of soda, chips, cookies, popcorn and nuts, I didn’t let the cashier get in a word in edgewise as he rang up my order. Grabbing my four bags, I headed out, having stuffed his credit card into my back pocket.

I called my two besties on the way to an all-night park, the enormously tall lights staring down at the grass so wide it almost hurt my eyes. But as we enjoyed the nuts, popcorn, Diet Coke and cookies, something bothered me. I couldn’t ignore it, no matter how hard I tried to act like nothing was wrong. While Spencer went on and on about his work project from last week and how he made the whole room stand up in applause and Melanie discussed her newfound ideas about the abroad trip we were all taking next month, I drifted mentally towards KP.

I got up, grabbed my purse and some goodies, leaving Spencer and Melanie with the cookies and Diet Pepsi. Tears ran down my face the next night at dinner as I ordered my husband to stay home tonight. I wasn’t going to run to the store for more ice cream. I had a marriage to uphold! It wasn’t going to end because one man was too busy playing a sport instead of spending time with his wife of three years.

We could snuggle up on the couch, laugh over some comedy show and walk into work the next week, telling everyone we were watching that show, too. Or we could cuddle up to some romance, hoping against all hope the couple would just freaking get married already! Or we could feel as if we were in the spaceship with some aliens.

I even told myself I’d tell KP to turn her stories into books. Anything to stop the weirdness.

But she persisted, always sitting outside, talking to no one. And her invisible friends listening and talking to her. I always watched her. The fall leaves drifted to the earth, their trees losing their leaves completely as snow claimed them and then bloomed right before my eyes in the springtime. That summer, I went up to her, tapped her on the shoulder and invited her to hang out at the park. Hope swelled within me. I bit my lip.

“Uh…sure!”

I knew I was going to be embarrassed when Spencer and Melanie stared at her in confusion, but they could also gossip about her for all I cared. I hung out with KP for as long as the summer days dragged on, the heat sometimes unbearable. When it got so hot I was sweating just sitting there on the metal bench, I invited KP in to have some cold lemonade straight from our fridge. She agreed, but whenever she looked at the lemon slice on her glass rim, she started talking to it.

Like it was her friend from one of her fairy-tale worlds.

“Oh!” I went right along, intrigued at her stories. “So the lemon…is a house?”

“Oh, a house! Yeah, I could make it like that.” KP chuckled. “I’m working on it, Mac. I’m really thinking of a—”

“A lemon peel house would be fantastic! No one owns this kind of world but you.”

At the park, Spencer and Melanie looked at KP, shook her hand and then returned to each other. She pointed to the pole light, concocting one story after another about how that light was her fairy friend’s light from her little cottage deep in the woods. I tried switching from them to KP, but she proceeded to discuss the light—was it too bright? Was it just right? Could it fit into a small cottage? As I agreed, discussed, disagreed and even made KP laugh, I simultaneously watched my phone clock, wishing the night would just end. I wanted to go home, curl up with my husband and watch a good show. When I finally told Melanie and Spencer we were going, they didn’t even say goodbye. So we just left.

I felt a little stung. Yes, it hurt to be treated like nothing, but I guessed I deserved it.

“You know, KP, my name isn’t Mac. It’s—”

“Oh, that’s just a nickname I gave you. I give everyone nicknames to confuse the dark fairies! I don’t understand why they bother us, but they do. Such stupid creatures.” She giggled. As I drove, I nodded, wishing this part was a dream. I wished sometimes I was dreaming.

When I dropped her off, she said goodbye to Mac, and I smiled. She soon went inside, and I saw her turn on a light, her mouth going a mile a minute. Getting into bed, I slid over to my sleeping husband. I told him I put his credit card back in his wallet and that I would pay him soon. At breakfast, he told me I had said something about a credit card. “I found it in my wallet and purchased snacks and Diet soda at the gas station.” He asked for a receipt. I said I didn’t do receipts. He put his hands on his hips.

“Hon, what are you talking about?”

“You know me.” I said coldly.

“No—I don’t know you.”

“Yeah—” I threw down the spoon. “you do! You know exactly who I am. Because I am the wife you leave at home to go play basketball. Maybe I’m just a lonely woman. And that KP woman is lonely. So I reached out. Yeah, I reached out to her, inviting her to my friends’ place.” I started crying, wishing I had a blanket up in which to curl. “All you do is escape. Escape to work, escape to basketball and escape to your own office. I don’t even feel I’m your wife!”

I told him tonight was going to be show night. I was going to curl up on the couch with him, eat whatever I wanted and laugh and cry with him. Basketball could wait. Retreating to our bedroom, I put on pajamas, grabbed the popcorn kernel jar and popped myself some. Asking whether he wanted any, I received a sure.

But it wasn’t a stiff answer. It wasn’t cold. It was a sure sure.

I smiled, excited.

“Babe.” He told me he loved me very much. Giving me a big squeeze (and I giving one in return) while we sat on the couch, he smiled genuinely. “I’m glad you’re reaching out. I got basketball, and that can wait.”

Stunned, I stared. Was my husband a fantasy creature pretending to be my husband? He was acting strange. Really strange. “I thought we’d watch a cute romance show.”

“Sure.” He bobbed his head up and down. “I’ll get my pajamas on, and then we’ll sit down and have fun.”

I told him during commercials that KP worried me. It’s like she had some cognitive disorder or something, because she just wouldn’t give those stories up. And Melanie and Spencer completely ignored us. My husband told me that I was generous to include a lonely someone. Maybe, I thought, slipping into bed, he’s right. Maybe I was always thinking of what I need to do, who I am and that others need to see me first. I shivered. My own selfishness was turning me into KP—too focused on what I wanted rather than others’ needs.

I wasn’t able to discern between selflessness and selfishness.

I woke up, watching KP as I ate my scrambled eggs and bacon.

One day, I didn’t watch her anymore. I told my obsessed coworkers to change the conversation. They just blinked and walk away. I wanted work elsewhere. Soon, my husband quit basketball all together, spending nights with me.

He still had his friends, of course. But I?

Soon, we adopted two sons. I had mentioned to some party guests at KP’s going-away party that she pulled me out of my stiffness, allowing me to reach out to someone who may have needed a little help.

And I was grateful.

Soon, people stopped gossiping about KP. She was forgotten.

But not by me.

Although my family and I moved to Canada, we wrote to each other. And I wrote her biography. I wrote about how I felt KP wasn’t quite herself. Like she couldn’t help it. She wasn’t always choosing to talk to herself. It was like she was being forced to. Or maybe she was deceived…

Two dark fairies watched a woman befriend a disabled man, saying how her old jogging friend, KP, joined her at the park. As we chatted, the fairies looked at each other. “Think we ought to tell her?”

“What?”

“That she needs to think twice about how she’s poisoning that man’s mind with the truth that he’s not the only suffering soul on this earth?”

Two good fairies were standing within earshot.

“Think they should change their minds before poisoning her mind, too?”

“Yeah—let’s go!”