Attack of the Killer Ants

I plastered my body across my bedroom door so my friend couldn't leave.  She'd threatened to go home.  I have no idea why, but I knew I didn't want her to leave.  There might have been some possibility of getting in trouble if the adults asked what happened, but really, I have no memory of what happened.

I know that we loved to play in our imaginations and I think on that particular day we had piled every single possession I owned on my bed and with our backs pressed against the wall, standing on the bed, we threw the items as hard as we could at the monster ants invading the room.  They were coming in through the bottom of the door morphing into creatures quite large; larger than Italian Wolfhounds.

I have no idea what my mom thought.  She was somewhere downstairs.

In my memory we were in the throes of battle and surely the noise level must have been as well.  Yet, my mom never came up.  In retrospect, I realize that most of my possessions were stuffed animals and I didn't have a very good throwing arm so perhaps we didn't make much noise at all quietly lofting fuzzy bunnies two feet off the bed.

Karen and I were definitely best friends.  I don't remember any arguments or problems getting along.  I don't recall feeling upset because she didn't share or hurt feelings because she told a lie.  I just remember playing in a world that we could both see as vividly and clearly as if it were really there.  Except for this one occasion where she used her taller ways to command me to move away from the door.

I didn't want her to leave, but I moved away.

We moved away in third grade and our parents set up play dates here and there, but it was never the same and we quietly grew apart.



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