She: Having an active imagination is a good thing for a writer, right?
Z: Sure.
She: Although sometimes it can get in the way of actually writing, if you’re just imagining you’re writing and not actually doing it.
Z: I don’t do that. Sometimes I just need to sit and think. It doesn’t mean I’m not working.
She: I was talking about me.
Z: Oh. In that case, imagination is a good thing, as long as you’re writing fiction and not, say, reporting on a City Council meeting you didn’t actually attend.
She: Just because I said I could do it in my sleep doesn’t mean I actually did it.
Z: Uh, OK.
She: But lately I’ve been finding my imagination kind of distracting.
Z: What do you mean?
She: Well, since you’ve been gone all week, we’ve been having imaginary conversations instead. You’re a great listener.
Z: What were you wearing in these imaginary conversations?
She: A size 8.
Z: I’m not going to go there. Even in your imagination, I’m too smart for that.
She: Hey, how did you know that? Have you been listening in on my imagination?
Z: At least I’m listening.
She: I must be imagining this.
Z: I listen.
She: I keep wondering where you are at 7 p.m. every night when I’ve played my 91st game of handball and my arm is starting to bruise because I accidentally told Koss I’d keep playing “until Daddy gets home from work.”
Z: Oops. Sorry.
She: Or it’s asking the couch if it wants a glass of wine with dinner.
Z: You have to ask?
She: Or it’s having my alarm go off in the morning and turning to your empty side of the bed and saying, “Honey, can you take Koss to school this morning?”
Z: Are you actually saying these things out loud?
She: I’m not sure. If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a noise if nobody’s there to hear it?
Z: I’m not sure.
She: I know, because you’re not there to hear it.
Z: Does this mean you miss me?
She: Of course it does, Freud.
Z: I’ll be home soon.
She: I really missed you last night at 2 a.m. when I had to chase a bird out of the house but didn’t want to wake up Koss.
Z: There was a bird in the house?
She: Yeah. At first I just thought it was loquats falling on the roof, but then it swooshed by my earlobe.
Z: Uh, oh.
She: I yelled at your pillow, “There’s something in our room!” You didn’t even stir.
Z: That’s because I was in Denmark.
She: I know. So I had to shoo the bird out the back door, quietly.
Z: How’d it go?
She: Well, my heart was pounding, and I couldn’t find my glasses, and I tripped over a stupid ball of string — but I got the bird out without waking up Koss.
Z: A ball of string?
She: String art. We’ve been doing a lot of string art between handball games.
Z: Ah, string art.
She: I’ve been talking to you about it. Koss is actually getting pretty good. I think those colorful threads might have been what attracted the bird.
Z: Oh, yeah?
She: That and the broken screen on the window that you promised me you would fix seven months ago. Not that I’m counting.
Z: Of course not.
She: I miss you.
Z: Me, too. I’ll be home before our next column.
She: Thank god.
Z: Yes, dear.
Share your imaginary conversations with She and Z at leslie@lesliedinaberg.com.