the right book at the right time

Crenshaw by Katherine Applegate


It seems like the biggest cliche in the world to say that books are my friends, but that's really what it feels like sometimes. And that unread books are friends that I haven't made yet. I remember seeing this book somewhere and thinking that the cover was adorable, and shelving it as something I might read someday on the rare (I thought) occasion when I'd be in a mood for a middle-grade book. It was as if someone had slid a business card across a table, telling me to call them when I needed them. At the time, I had no idea what it would mean to need such a book. But when life conspired to bring about that need - when the worst thing happened and all I wanted was a big warm someone to sit near me for a little while - the knowledge of what to do was unmistakable.

Jackson is a 10-year-old boy whose family is going through difficult times. His parents try to look at the glass as half full, but Jackson sees no use in optimism: he's all about the facts, because he wants to be a scientist when he grows up. So it comes as a shock when he starts having visions of Crenshaw: a giant black-and-white cat who was once his imaginary friend. Crenshaw is linked inextricably to Jackson's likes and beliefs, but also exerts a will of his own. He refuses to follow Jackson's orders, and conveys ideas that Jackson struggles to make sense of. Jackson tries to figure out if Crenshaw is "real", and attempts to get rid of him so life can go back to normal. Meanwhile, the family's situation grows worse and we see how honest, responsible people can fall through cracks that widen every time society turns a blind eye.

While reading this book, I was reminded - of all things - of the Sufi poet Rumi's writings in which he refers to the Friend. It was not until reading this book while going through a dark period that the notion of the Friend started to click for me. Because to be honest, I can get hurt by the littlest of things. But when a hurt is so massive that it seems like it could slice right through me, it doesn't. It comes up against a part of me that almost has a mind of its own, decoupled from whatever turmoil is going on outside. It's something tiny and hard that just says nope - this won't go any further. There's no way that this is going to destroy us.

Is that stubborn little thing the seat of the imaginary friends I had as a child? Who knows.

The article I read about imaginary friends said they often appear during times of stress. It said that as kids mature, they tend to outgrow their pretend world.

But Crenshaw told me something else.

He said imaginary friends never leave. He said they were on call. Just waiting, in case they were needed.

What I've written is more about me than about the book, so I'll just stop by saying: thank you, Crenshaw.

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