I was the kid who had not one but two imaginary friends, IF's, with others who came and went with the days.
I was the kid who wanted to know my favorite characters in person, so I made them into imaginary friends as well.
I was the kid who ran around the house in large-scale reenactments of movies, TV shows and books, played every role and, when in need of props, made do with two hands, a torn headband and some imaginative ingenuity.
I was the kid who, when handed a broomstick with gold lettered "Nimbus 2000" written on the handle, knew she'd be able to fly.
I was not thinking about who Ms. Frizzle and Basil the Great Mouse Detective reminded me of or what their characters told me about myself.
I was not contemplating what social issue or cast of morals the "Magic Tree House" might have represented.
I was not seeking to psychoanalyze what Severus Snape's problem was with Harry Potter or why Max and Emmy didn't seem to have any friends not in a land apart they could play with (not that I wouldn't have totally chosen to hang with dragons too, given the choice--but you take my meaning).
I was only thinking that I wanted them to be real.
I needed them to be real.
I knew them to be real.
And that was that.
No one contradicted me. If I said I was having lunch with a giant in a striped black and white shirt and his name was Big Billy then that's exactly what was happening.
If Puff the magic dragon was flying alongside the car on a cloudless day then okay. No one's messing with us today.
If the second Triwizard challenge was happening in the deep end of the YMCA pool, sounds good. Better let the lifeguard know that I've got this--the grindylows aren't fast enough to catch me, the gillyweed has my air supply covered and you can consider Ron and Hermione safe.
There came a time however, when someone did contradict me.
I do not remember when this moment was or even if someone said anything at all about the implausibility of my fantastic imaginings, but I must believe it did happen.
There must have been some fundamental shift in the universe as invisible as my companions at which time my word was no longer valid.
My proclamations that someone was sitting in the chair beside me and a dragon was flying alongside the car became as empty as the invisible spaces I pointed out as evidence of my companions' existence.
They no longer held anything but forgotten realities.
They no longer held meaning.
The word "imagination" was reborn, emerging from the imagination of childhood into the imagination of adulthood. This version pales in comparison and seems to be binding. Once one crosses the boundary of rationality, invisible and deceitful as it is, there is no going back.
And so I adapted.
Just because I now refrained from running around the house with a broomstick and my invisibility cloak did not mean I ceased in pretending I was.
I walked instead of ran and kept my voice inside my head instead of aloud.
I took the cloak off myself and lent it to my companions, shielding them from prying eyes and continuing our trips to Hogwarts and Narnia unseen, this time closing the platform and wardrobe doors behind me.
I would not be followed, meaning I no longer had help in the form of flesh and blood friends to assist me in my--to put it bluntly--mind games.
I was used to doing most of it myself, but it did get tiring. I was acutely aware after all that I could not in fact levitate objects or produce magic as Harry could.
I needed someone who could help me out.
And bibbidi-bobbidi-boo, I made one.
I really don't know where he came from. Maybe from nowhere, but he arrived nonetheless.
His name changed many times.
Something exotic, I thought, might be cool. But not too strange. Something easy to spell.
Jacoby stuck.
Hebrew. Defined as "Supplanter.” One who supplants. To supersede or replace.
Not that I Googled it then. I was 10 and for whatever reason, fated or not, my 10-year-old brain came up with that.
I did the Googling yesterday, in fact--8 years later--and was mystified as to how much sense that definition makes in regards to what Jacoby's role was: to replace what I had lost.
He was the next stage of my imaginative evolution.
Over time, my Jacoby evolved himself. He was the IF that held more covert meaning than any other IF I'd shared my subconscious with before.
He grew as I grew and changed as I changed, eventually becoming simply Jacob in an effort to make him more relatable to the characters he encountered within the confines of my mind. He was brave and loyal, a proper Gryffindor when it came down to it. He had a past, vague and mysterious as it was and would remain for a long while, and was adaptable enough to be superimposed over any story I saw fit to place him in.
Some days, he was the strange new boy at Hogwarts, while others, he would inadvertently discover the entrance to Narnia.
(Once he was even thebest friend of Wilber Robinson and played an integral role in repairing the Future. That was a good day.)
Point is, he had all the crazy magic I used to pretend I had, running around the house on my broomstick. Now, I could simply watch him do those things in my place, in my mind, where no one else could spy. I was free to do whatever I wanted, through him.
Now I have grown up a bit more.
He (now James) has as well.
His backstory is no longer vague and mysterious as it was in his past life. Now it is as solid (if not more so) as mine. It might even be safe to say I remember more from his childhood than my own. I know his past, I know his present, and his future--well. If he progresses as I do, let's just say I have some ideas.
He is my IF, just as Big Billy and Puff were.
My current if.
My biggest if.
My if the most real.
He is real, in part, I suppose. Why not? Lots of other ifs are considered real. Potentialities. Things that might be. Things that are.
And so I write my James down little by little and think who he'll be next, think what will be next.
Think always about the IF.
