Mind The Gap Between Reality and Imagination

Welcome to episode one of the London Tube podcast.

Each episode I'm going to tell you a story which is set in the London Tube.

This episode focuses on Andy, a prestigious writer and his imaginary friend Vanessa.

He'll be taking through his journey on the Piccadilly Line.

So relax, sit back and take yourself into the story.

I struggled to get into the packed tube carriage

but managed to sit down near a young brunette

She is on the last pages of Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

A bit cliche if you ask me

I should focus on my book too

Not reading, writing it

I was given two weeks to finish it

Little did I know I haven't even started

I open my brown briefcase, grabbing a small notepad and my precious fountain pen. The brunette raises an

eyebrow at me, eyeing my pen. She reminds me of the grown-up version of Vanessa, my childhood

imaginary friend. Her hair was long and dark, her skin tanned like a Hawaiian woman. I always

thought she looked like Lilo from my favourite Disney cartoon, and funnily enough, I've always

ended up in trouble. Ah, memories. Wait, that's it. Memories.

The next station is Hyde Park Corner.

I open the notepad and close my eyes.

I always ask the guards for inspiration, especially as I only have two weeks left to write this

bloody book.

Taking notes is one of the most important steps in my writing routine.

Hopefully, this new idea will go somewhere.

Counting pen, please don't fail me now.

We have all had imaginary friends.

You might not remember them, but they were there.

They were there when you snuck in.

into the pantry without your nan seeing and devoured an entire tin of biscuits.

They told you to do it.

They were there when you painted the corridor walls green with your small fingers.

They told you to do it.

They were there holding the scissors that cut your hair into different lengths too.

I don't recall a time when Vanessa prevented me from being naughty.

She was a feisty one, always getting me into trouble.

Mind the gap between the train and the platform.

The brunette gets up and an old man takes her place.

He's worn out. He grabs the blue pole for balance.

People keep coming in, standing in the luggage area or

leaning against the closed doors.

The brunette moved to the other side of the carriage to sit with a friend.

They laughed together.

She even laughs like Vanessa. I remember the last time I saw Vanessa. I didn't

even get to say goodbye. I don't think I've thought about her since. My mind

can't even process if she were real or a dream. Perhaps imaginary friends are

really just ghosts. There is a myth that only kids can see ghosts so it makes

sense. Why would they disappear with age if not? Because we grow out of our imagination

and they get scared. Vanessa was very imaginative. She would always play lava with me when no

one else wanted to.

The next station is Green Park. Change here for the Victoria and Jubilee lines. Exit here

for Buckingham Palace.

I put my pen down and skim the tube carriage.

My eyes stop at the old man who sits across from me.

I wonder if he...

had an imaginary friend. I mean, I'm sure he did, but who was it? Would they play together?

Probably not outside his room. He would be too embarrassed to share it with his friends.

Why is having an imaginary friend embarrassing? It's almost like having a puppet. Why is that

considered entertainment then? We all talk to ourselves and does that make us all crazy?

I was never embarrassed about Vanessa. How could I be? She was perfect.

Mind the gap between the train and the platform.

The seats near the old man are now empty as a lot of the people leave the train.

A new wave of Londoners come in

Another young woman sits next to him

This time, a blonde with a white iPhone

and pink headphones.

Near the luggage area, there is a mum

and her son, crying his heart out.

He's trying

to squeeze out of his pram.

The mother finally gives up and

lets him out.

He jumps to the nearest seat and sticks his face

on the dirty window, trying to look past it.

Ah, children.

Always running around.

Maybe we still have imaginary friends

and we don't realise it.

Maybe they can help us cope with our ageing dilemmas.

Could they have been in our heads the whole time?

Like ghosts that cling on.

It's hard to believe Vanessa was a ghost. Ghosts have died.

Vanessa wasn't dead. She had her lively spirits and

even if she was a ghost, why would she stay? What

unfinished business can a child have in this world?

NASA was not a ghost.

The old man has fallen asleep.

His head falls back, swinging from side to side.

His neck is going to hurt.

The Vanessa look-alike has disappeared again.

Her friend is still sitting on the other side of the carriage,

but there is no sight of the brunette.

Where'd she go?

The little kid has calmed down, finally.

He is now sleeping peacefully in his pram.

His mother seems relieved and so did a young couple trying to have a conversation next to them

What if?

There are the voices in our heads

Are they the ones that tempt us to be mischievous once again?

Did they grow up?

Or did they stay young and wild?

Is that why we never fully grow up?

They could be the reason why we still enjoy songs and shows from our childhood

Or why we step in puddles every once in a while

maybe they're why we try for no

reason or why we have syrup for breakfast, lunch and dinner on lazy Sundays. Are they

keeping our inner child alive?

The young brunette is near me again. She eyes my notebook, probably wondering what I'm

up to. Imagine if she found out. I would look like an absolute stalker. Maybe she would

find it funny. I know Vanessa would. She moves around in her seat, crossing her legs and

leaning her head against the transparent panel at the edge of the seats.

She pulls out a different book from her tote bag.

A bookworm, I see.

This time, the perks of being a wallflower.

That was Vanessa's favourite book.

Mind the gap between the train and the platform.

People come in and out and Cecil sits there reading.

expression on her face is impossible to ignore. She chuckles once in a while, like a child.

Her smile is infectious, her look endearing. A young man takes a seat next to her. He looks

messy. His blonde hair is up in a bun, dirty. His tired face is covered in grey stubble.

He exudes desperation and sadness. The complete opposite of the young woman next to him.

She radiates light and happiness.

He seems lost.

I wonder where he's going.

He doesn't have bags or a phone in his hand.

He just stares through the window with despair.

Maybe he can see his reflection.

She notices him crying.

Her eyes widen and there is a glimpse of sadness in her eyes.

The young man is not okay.

What if they do grow up and they grow older?

What if they don't?

And as they grow, they become insecure, stubborn, bitter, depressed or unhappy with the life they have been given.

What if they are the voice in our head that tells us we are not enough or worth it?

Are they doubting us or themselves?

I've never doubted Vanessa.

I knew that no matter where or when, she was there for me.

Having her was almost like being married.

I, Andy, take you, Vanessa, to be my imaginary friend.

To have and to hold from this day forward.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer.

In sickness and in health.

To love and to cherish.

Till death do us part.

The next station is Covent Garden.

The young man reaches into his pocket and grabs a card.

I usually mind my own business,

but as a writer, I can't help but look.

His hands tremble.

His hands tremble.

The back of the cards read,

The back of the cards read,

Funeral Invitation.

Funeral Invitation.

The Vanessa look-alike has read it too.

The Vanessa look-alike has read it too.

She grabs her book tightly, feeling his pain.

She grabs her book tightly, feeling his pain.

I wonder who has died and my mind brings me to a female figure.

I wonder who has died and my mind brings me to a female figure.

A mother, a girlfriend, a sister.

A mother, a girlfriend, a sister.

My heart hurts for him.

My heart hurts for him.

Do they feel emotional pain?

Do they feel emotional pain?

Are they the ones who help us grieve?

Are they the ones who help us grieve?

Does their disappearance mean the death of our childhood?

Does their disappearance mean the death of our childhood?

Can they see the dead?

Can they see the dead?

Do we meet them again in heaven?

Do we meet them again in heaven?

I like the idea of seeing Vanessa once again.

I like the idea of seeing Vanessa once again.

Even if it is in the afterlife.

Even if it is in the afterlife.

I can already picture her in her flowy white dress and the crown made from white roses.

I can already picture her in her flowy white dress and the crown made from white roses.

She'll be surrounded by doves.

She'll be surrounded by doves.

this angelic look would contrast so much from her

this angelic look would contrast so much from her

personality. I love it.

Mind the gap between the train and the platform.

The tube stops once again and the busy Londoners make their way in and out of

the carriage. The brunette observes every new person that sits near us. Next to the

sad teen sits a gigantic man, probably in his twenties. He has the longest and skinniest

limbs I have ever seen. Imagine a Slenderman type figure. He carries the tiniest chihuahua

on his lap. They are both dressed in stripes, on purpose I assume. For someone who is new

to the London Tube scene, this type of sight might be unusual, but for a regular like me

it's just great

writing content

here

you realise that people

still praise uniqueness and originality

despite society's effort to make us uniform?

Do we base our imaginary friends off of real people?

Would they look the same if we met them again as adults?

Would their personalities change?

I can't imagine a non-rebellious Vanessa.

That would be impossible.

I would like to think she hasn't changed.

Personalities like hers are hard to find.

She was mischievous.

She was happy.

There wasn't a time she wasn't ready for an adventure.

She was like a ray of sunshine.

The next station is Holborn.

Change here for the central line.

Finally.

This is my stop.

Don't get me wrong.

I love the tube, but I would rather just teleport to my house.

At the same time, it's good practice.

I spend about an hour every day observing people and creating stories around them.

One of my books, The Gold Tooth, was inspired by a gang member I met on my way to work one morning.

Same goes for this book, I guess.

It all started with the brunette sitting in front of me.

It's funny how imagination works.

how one small detail can trigger a whole story

or in this case a series of unanswerable questions

she closes her book and slides it back into her tote bag

is this her stop as well?

I wonder where she lives

she shifts her attention to me and we make eye contact

usually I would immediately break it but

this feels comfortable

she smiles at me and looks away

was this flirting?

what do I even know about dating?

I close my notebook and put away my precious fountain pen.

The train is stopping soon and I need to leave.

Weirdly, I feel sad to leave.

Will I ever see her again?

Is this the last time I'll ever remember Vanessa?

I wish she had never left.

Mind the gap between the train and the platform.

I grab my briefcase and exit the tube station as fast as I can to avoid getting caught in

the crowd.

I don't see the young brunette anywhere.

I guess this is our goodbye.

Passing the barriers I get hit by the typical London smell, very prominent in my street.

I pop next door into the dry cleaners.

Hey Aaron.

I greet.

Aaron, the shop owner and I are old friends, we have both lived on this street

since we were kids.

I live right across from the station,

above Byron, the hamburger shop.

I leave the dry cleaners,

cross in the street and reach for my key.

Going up these stairs never gets any easier,

especially with age.

I get in,

hanging up my briefcase and my coat.

Hmm, this house hasn't changed a bit,

a female voice says, startling me.

I spit on my heels to face the young brunette from the Tube sitting comfortably in my brown armchair.

Thanks for listening to the London Tube Podcast.

If you like this show and want to know more, check out anchor.fm forward slash the London Tube Podcast

and please leave a review.

Join us next week for the next episode.

Thank you.