“Did you have an imaginary friend when you grew up?” Bubba asked the Reader. “Did you play games, read, and stare at clouds together? Did you tell your parents about your friend? Did you discover one day that your friend was no longer with you?”

“Here’s the story of a boy and his imaginary friend … or was he?”

Ron Corday was a typical little boy. He played with cars, building blocks, and toys outside. He often sat outside on a swing and read aloud. His dad, Chuck Corday, asked Ron during dinner, “Why are you reading aloud? Are you reading to someone?”

“Yes,” Ron said as he slurped down his ‘sketti’. “Don likes me to read to him.”

“Oh, I didn’t see him,” Ron’s mom Cassie said with a smile. “You can invite him inside for some apple juice the next time he is here.”

“I’ll ask, but you can’t see him. He’s indivisible.”

“You mean ‘invisible’?”

“Yeah, invisible,” Ron replied with a slight grin.

At first, Ron’s parents were not concerned about Ron having an imaginary friend. He was a typical 5-year-old, very active boy. There weren’t many kids in his neighborhood, but he always kept busy.

Cassie and Chuck got worried one evening when Ron was late for dinner. They were about to call the police when Ron burst through the door, saying, “I’m sorry for being late. We built a fort out of that box my new mattresses came in, and we had a great time fighting aliens and dinosaurs, and I lost track of time. Maybe you could hang a big clock on the patio wall and I could watch it,” the boy said with a cautious smile.

Cassie crossed her arms in that accusatory stance all mothers use and sternly asked, “Who is ‘we’, young man? Who were you playing with this late, made you late for dinner, and worried your parents?” She changed her stance and added, “Ron, we want you to be safe while you play outside. That’s why we get concerned. So, who were you playing with?”

With a quizzical look, Ron said, “You know … Don. I was playing with Don.”

“You will introduce Don to us tomorrow or you will not be playing with him. Do you understand?”

Ron grumbled something as he trudged to his room but never turned back to his mom and dad.

The next weekend, Cassie took Ron to the park. “The boy needs to interact with ‘real’ children instead of imaginary ones,” she explained to Chuck over breakfast, “especially since Ron starts school this fall!”

Ron sat motionless and quietly in a swing for several minutes. Cassie got an important email on her cell phone and read it twice. When she looked up, Ron was running to her and grinning. “Hey, we won the contest! We swung higher than everyone else at the park! Don may have gone higher than me, but I’m not sure.”

“Don again?” Cassie asked as she looked around for another boy.

“Yeah, Don. Don’t be mad at Don. He is my best friend!”

As he got older, Ron seemed to blame Don for screwups and little accidents. “Sorry, Mom. Don broke that mirror in my room.” Oh, Mom, Don accidentally stepped on my tube of toothpaste, and it squished all over the bathroom floor. “Dad, Don tried to tie one of your ties, and aftershave soaked it.”

Then, problems got worse when he was in junior high school. Cassie found a paper stuffed deep in Ron’s backpack. “What is this note from your teacher about? What happened?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, we do,” Chuck said as he walked into the room. “Explain it, Ron.”

Ron’s chin dropped to his chest. “OK. A stack of quizzes accidentally fell into the shredder by Mrs. Walsh’s desk. Suzzana bumped into Don as she walked by the desk and the papers just … sort of … you know … fell in.”

Cassie took Ron’s hand. “You said ‘Don’ but you really meant ‘Ron’. Ron did that. You did that. Isn’t that correct?”

“No-o-o-o!” Ron protested. “Don did it, but he didn’t mean to do it. It was an accident! It just happened!” His parents stood with their arms folded — silent and disbelieving. “You don’t believe me! It’s true!”

Chuck squatted down to be eye-to-eye with his son. Calmly he said, “Ron, we love you and have overlooked your imaginary friend for several years. But that stops now. There is no Don. He is only in your mind.”

“You are wrong!” Ron screamed.

“You want us to believe you?” Cassie asked louder than she meant to. “Alright. Where is Don? Show him to us.”

Tears fell from those deep green eyes as Ron whimpered. “You don’t believe me. Maybe you never believed anything I ever said,” he said from quivering lips. He turned with his head down and walked down the hallway to his room. 

Chuck and Cassie heard the door to his bedroom slowly close. They stared at each other for several moments until Chuck said, “This is beyond us now. We need to get him some help.”

The school counselor Ms. Roberts listened to Chuck and Cassie as they explained last night’s conversation with Ron. She explained the school’s position on such matters, then softly said, “What can all of us do to help Ron? I love that young man. He lights up this average school with his smiles and laughter.”

Cassie realized Ms. Roberts was on their side as she softly asked, “Can you recommend a child psychiatrist? Is that what you are thinking?”

Ms. Roberts pulled a single sheet of paper from under her oversized desk calendar. “Here is the number for Dr. Joseph Perdomo,” she said as she wrote on a sticky note and handed it to Cassie. “Tell him I sent you.”

Chuck and Cassie first met Dr. Perdomo alone. He asked, “Why are you here?” They explained their reluctance to admit something might be wrong with their son. They worried they put off seeing a psychiatrist out of fear and shame. They also talked about how nervous they were leading up to this appointment. Perdomo finished taking notes and asked, “What do you need from me?”

“We want our son back – not as that sweet, funny little 5-year-old, but as that growing 13-year-old who can become whatever he wants to become,” Cassie responded with a tremble in her voice. “We don’t care if he wants to be a coffee barista, doctor, shoe clerk, lawyer, or dog catcher. We just want him to be happy.”

Perdomo watched as Chuck sought out Cassie’s hand. He cleared his throat and said, “Then let’s get to work.”

Together the three of them created an attack plan and an appointment schedule. Slowly over time, Dr. Perdomo worked with Ron alone, Chuck and Cassie alone, and sometimes with all three. Sessions were held in Perdomo’s office, at the Corday’s’ home, and even a few at the park. Perdomo worked hard to gain the trust of each member of the Corday family. 

At the end of the first year, Cassie, Chuck, and Dr. Perdomo met to discuss some findings. The parents were stunned at Dr. Perdomo’s analysis. “Split personality? Are you saying Ron is crazy?” Cassie said in disbelief.

“I said Ron may be suffering from what is called Dissociative Identity Disorder (DID), which used to be called ‘multiple personality disorder’. It affects less than 1% of the population and is even rarer in children. It is a complex condition that could be attributed to a severe trauma earlier in his childhood. DID is usually characterized by two distinct identities or personalities. Common signs and symptoms can be depression, anxiety, and loss of memory.” 

“That is certainly not the case with Ron!” Chuck yelled. “How dare you insinuate such about our boy!”

Perdomo paused, cleared his throat, and said, “I must now ask you two, very difficult questions.” Cassie covered her mouth and Chuck leaned forward. Neither said anything. Perdomo pressed on carefully, “Is there any possibility of substance abuse – accidental or intentional? Has Ron demonstrated any tendencies of self-harm?”

“Oh, my God, No!” Cassie screamed.

“What the hell are you suggesting?” Chuck yelled as he stood up.

“I am simply checking off a litany of possibilities to narrow the list to find the cause. This is what makes Ron unique. Most often someone with DID is confused about who they are. They may feel detached, walking around in another world so to speak. They may not know anything about the other personality. But Ron knows who he is and remembers everything he has done.”

“Then who the hell is Don?” Cassie cried.

“I believe Don is a separate personality that is attempting to escape from Ron. Thus far, he has only manifested himself in what Ron thinks he has seen while Ron remained the dominant personality.”

“You think Don just kind of pops out and says ‘hello’ ever once in a while? Like some sort of Jack-in-the-Box?”

“In a way … yes. But the three of us continue to do as we have been … supporting and nurturing a fine young man.”

Perdomo used family group therapy sessions, psychotherapy, and hypnotherapy to treat Ron. Over the next four years, Ron’s association with Don faded, almost as if Don was never seen, discussed, or even existed. Ron was free.

***

In Ron’s senior year of high school, he was voted Most Likely to Succeed, as well as Class Clown. His future was bright. During the last week of school, Ron walked by the junior high school next to the high school. He stopped when he witnessed an older kid selling dope on the soccer field. Ron yelled, “Stop that! You’re poisoning them with that stuff!”

Cold dark eyes under a hoodie hissed, “Go away or die where you stand.” Ron saw the glimmer of a small pistol as it appeared from a pocket. “Like I said, move or die,” came the voice behind stained teeth in an evil grin.”

Ron clenched his fists as he replied, “And I said stop.”

The next thing Ron knew, a teacher, Mrs. Kendrick, was standing over him and wiping his face with a wet rag. “Are you waking up, Ron? Here, let me help you sit up. Better?” 

“What happened?” came the questioning voice of a man in a police uniform.

“I … don’t … know. My head is spinning like a top.” He felt blood oozing from his forehead.

The police officer looked beyond Ron sitting on a curb to the body of a young man wearing a hoodie. His breathing was labored, but he was alive. Both his arms were grotesquely twisted and severely broken.

Mrs. Kendrick said, “I have never seen such bravery in my life. That man pointed a gun at Ron, but Ron walked right up to him and everything became a blur.”

“I remember something came between that guy and me.” Ron left out that he thought he saw someone. It was a blurry shadow, he thought to himself. It was a guy about my size. He looked familiar, like maybe he was in my class. Did someone come to help? This doesn’t make any sense!

“Maybe when the bullet creased your forehead, things became hazy,” the officer said. “I will review the school’s security cameras for any additional information. In the meantime, young man, I’m glad you are okay. You’re a hero,” the officer said as he smiled and patted Ron on the back. “Here’s the EMT. Let them check you out and I will call your parents.”

That night, Ron tossed and turned in bed as he re-lived the event in a dream. The shadowy figure took a better shape, and Ron strained to recognize the face. Then in his dream, the figure turned and smiled at Ron. 

“It’s you, Don!” Ron exclaimed in his dream. “Where have you been!”

“I’ve always been here … beside you. You stopped looking for me,” Don’s shape replied. “You grew up and did not need me – until today.”

“Will you stay?”

“I’ll be around when you need me again,” came Don’s voice as it faded away and Ron fell into a deep sleep.

Cassie, Chuck, and Ron had a family meeting after dinner two nights later. “Ron, do you know how much we love you?” Cassie asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” Ron grinned. “My head got creased by a bullet, not hit by a big sledgehammer.”

“Maybe you don’t,” Chuck said. “The year before your mom and I got married, she was hit by a drunk driver while she was going to the library to study. After our wedding, we learned she could not have children. But we loved each other so much, we wanted to share that love with a child. We found a wonderful woman who would carry and give birth to that child — you.”

“Her name is Sandra, and we still have occasional contact with her. While you slept last night, we called to tell her about what happened. Sandra began to sob and moan – something about hoping not to lose both children,” Cassie continued. “Sandra and her doctor agreed not to inform the adoptive parents of the stillborn sibling to spare any emotional crisis.” Cassie glanced at Chuck before continuing. “Ron, your birth mother never informed us that she gave birth to twin boys. One was stillborn and she named him Don after her father, a cop who died in a gun battle with members of a drug cartel. He was a hero. We never knew the whole story until last night.”

That was Don’s spirit I grew up with all those years. But I thought he had left me, Ron slowly realized. He was there when I needed him.

And I always will be, softly sounded a fading voice in Ron’s head.