Derek Rocket

Mother peeks her head into my bedroom,

“McKale, it’s time for dinner.”

I frown intensely and fold my arms

in front of my chest with a huff.

“I’m not McKale,

my name’s Derek Rocket.”

She only smiles with a gentle,

but immensely amused giggle.

“Oh, I’m sorry Derek!

It’s nice to see you again.”

Derek was my imaginary friend.

He would come and go whenever it pleased him,

not much unlike any other

child’s imaginary friend.

But when he did decide to show,

I became him.

I would put on a specific outfit,

clothes stolen from my brothers.

I would talk in a voice deeper

than my usually shrill one.

I would walk with a stride

filled with absolute confidence.

I would blurt swear words,

often being sent into a corner afterwards.

McKale wasn’t there when

Derek came over to play.

But, as time began to pass

with a frightening quickness,

Derek didn’t show.

He stopped coming over to play.

For days and weeks

I’d sit bouncing on my bed,

staring out my window

just waiting for him to arrive.

I’d wait.

And wait.

But there would be

no sign of him anywhere.

“McKale! Look what I found

in your old toy chest!”

Mother strode over to me,

holding out a shabby, red and black, sport jersey.

“Remember Derek?

Whenever you wore this shirt

I would have to call you Derek Rocket.

You’d get so mad if I didn’t!

Maybe, someday,”

Her lips slowly turn up

into a small grin,

giving me a sly wink.

“I’d get to see him again.”