Elena Urquhart

I remember who picked on me and who just ignored me.

The Winnie the Pooh school mom.

I begged her to remember the classroom she took me to.

The room with Winnie the Pooh painted on the wall.

She used my full name when she told me to cut the shit.

And that's when I realized something was weird.

Apparently when I was a kid, I didn't just have imaginary friends.

I had an imaginary classroom.

What the fuck?

Apparently my mom and I would sit and play, question mark, in the cemetery for hours in the mornings.

I have real memories of this school.

Vivid memories.

I could draw a picture of the teacher that woke me up that morning if you asked me to.

I used to tell my mom what I learned in school.

Colors, numbers, the alphabet.

She always just went with it.

30 years later, I found out I actually didn't go to school years later when we were living in a different house.

Don't worry, by that point I had younger sisters, so I guess I finally had some real friends.

I've never had the guts to look into the cemetery or a reason that I thought I was in school all of that time.

This is wild.