What's Your Name?

What's Your Name?

I want to ask my imaginary sister how I look for my first day at the new school.  I stop primping for a moment and listen to her answer. 

“But Soccer Boy will talk,” I say.  “This is the only way.”  I give the wig several hard tugs and it doesn’t come off easy. 

“You’re making a huge mistake,” Big Sister says.

She gives me the stink eye with her hands on her hips.  She’s Big Sister, been there, done that, told you so.  The imaginary friend I can’t control.  She comes to visit whenever she wants and then disappears for months sometimes before dropping in again to shout her sage advice.  I did sort of ask her this time, though. 

I play with the silvery strands dangling from my ears and then wash my courage down with orange juice.  A whole tribe of fairy girls then joins me for breakfast.

“They’ll find you out.”  Big Sister tosses back hair that is blonder than mine and longer and she weaves hers into a loose ponytail, something I am never able to get right.  Her eyes are bluer too – the color of the sky at noon on a perfect day.   Mine resemble the color at first light when you aren’t sure whether it will rain or not.  She doesn’t seem to notice the fairy girls.

“If you don’t look too closely, all you see is Hollywood hair,” I say.  I even flat ironed it.”

“I can’t believe it didn’t catch fire,” Big Sister says.

One of the fairy girls whispers in my ear, “Don’t listen to her, no one will ever know.  If you don’t wear it one day, then tell anyone who asks that your pink alter ego is your Big Sister by three minutes, got it?”  Fairy girls are so smart. 

“No one will know anything about the woods,“ I say.  “My name is Kimmie.”