Crenshaw

15

“Uh … Aretha,” I said. “I was talking to Aretha.”

I hated lying. But it wasn’t like I had a choice.

Robin yawned. “Were you giving her a bath?”

“Yeah.”

I looked back and forth, forth and back.

Sister.

Imaginary friend.

Sister.

Imaginary friend.

Aretha ran over to nuzzle Robin’s hand.

“Aretha’s not wet,” Robin said.

“I used the hair dryer on her.”

“She hates the hair dryer.” Robin kissed the top of Aretha’s head. “Don’t you, baby?”

Robin didn’t seem to see Crenshaw. Maybe because it was pretty dark in the hallway. Or maybe because he was invisible.

Or maybe because none of this was really happening.

“She smells the same,” Robin observed. “Nice and doggy.”

I glanced at Crenshaw. He rolled his eyes.

“Oh well,” Robin said, yawning. “I’m going back to bed. Night, Jacks. Love you.”

“Night, Robin,” I said. “Love you, too.”

As soon as her bedroom door closed, we retreated to my room. Crenshaw leaped onto my mattress as if he owned it. When Aretha tried to join him, he growled. It wasn’t very convincing.

“I need to understand what’s happening.” I slumped against the wall. “Am I going crazy?”

Crenshaw’s tail rose and fell, making lazy Ss in the air. “No, you most certainly are not.” He licked a paw. “By the way, at the risk of repeating myself, how about those purple jelly beans?”

When I didn’t answer, he settled into a doughnut shape, tail wrapped around himself, and closed his eyes. He purred the way my dad snores, like a motorboat with engine problems.

I stared at him, a huge, damp, bubble bath–taking cat.

There’s always a logical explanation, I told myself. And a part of me, the scientist part of me, really wanted to figure out what was going on.

Still, a much bigger part of me felt certain that I needed this hallucination—this dream—this thing—to disappear. Later, when Crenshaw was safely out of my house, not to mention my brain, I could think about what all this meant.

A soft knock on my door told me Robin was back. She always knocks the beginning of “Wheels on the Bus”: Tap-tap-ta-ta-tap.

“Jackson?”

“Please go to sleep, Robin.”

“I can’t sleep. I miss my trash can.”

“Your trash can?”

“Dad took my trash can to sell at the yard sale.”

“I’m pretty sure that was a mistake, Robin,” I said. “Nobody wants to buy your trash can.”

“It had blue bunnies on it.”

“We’ll get it out of the garage in the morning.”

Aretha made a move to sniff Crenshaw’s tail. He hissed.

I put my finger to my lips to shush him, but Robin didn’t seem to hear anything.

“Night, Robin,” I said. “See you in the morning.”

“Jackson?”

I rubbed my eyes and groaned, the way I’d seen my parents do more than once. “Now what?”

“Do you think I can get another bed someday?”

“Sure. Of course. Maybe even one with blue bunnies.”

“Jackson?”

“Yes?”

“My room is scary without my stuff in it. Could you come read me Lyle?”

I took a long, slow breath. “Sure. I’ll be right there.”

Robin sniffled. “I’ll just wait right here by your door. ’Kay?”

“Okay.” I shot a glance at Crenshaw. “Just give me a second, Robin. There’s something I really need to do.”