Once upon a time there was a fancy little girl named Isabella. She was full-time fancy.
And we all know that every fancy girl needs a boy in her life to worship her because, yes, we have seen Pretty in Pink. (PS. For some reason, Emily cannot figure out that his name is Duckie…and not Quackie) And because there were no quirky suitors around, Isabella made one up. His name was Eneed. Yes it was. Eneed came on the scene several years ago, and when you are only four, several years ago is a long time. A very long time. Eneed ate at the table with us and rode in the car “He’s almost 5, Mama, he can sit in a booster” and came out to dinner with us and slept on the floor in Isabella’s room. We kind of just got used to having Eneed around. I mean, dude drove all the way down to Atlanta with us and was, by far, the best behaved in the car.
People are fascinated by her tales of Eneed. And how her facts are always the same. He has a permanent scar on his left arm from when it broke and Isabella had to take him to the emergency room and she sat with him for over four days until a doctor would see him and give him xrays. His birthday is “August somethingth” and he’s two years older than Isabella. He doesn’t like cake, but he likes pie. These stories never change.
This weekend, however, I got to hear a new Eneed story. One I have never heard before.
Her: Hey, Isabella, how’s Eneed?
Isabella: Oh, he’s dead.
Her: Oh no! What happened to him?
Isabella: Well, I didn’t need him anymore so I chopped him up into little pieces with my knife and now he’s dead.
And the bells start ringing in my ears and all of a sudden all I hear is “Danny isn’t here Mrs. Torrence” and oh my god, Eneed is Jodie the Pig and we are in Amityville and please tell me she can’t start fires with her mind or start vomiting pea soup and oh my god, maybe letting her wear masks is probably not the best idea…
Also, I’m totally sleeping with the lights on tonight.