my grandfather I had to find someone to talk to. SCRatch that... Also add that she sat in the wing back chair...blah... don't read as much... I read the enclyopedias dreaming of places to travel. My imaganation grew and escaped reality from the bits of converstaions that I picked up from my moms visitors. Her parlor was next door to granpa's library. My loneliness grew and the desperate pleas of visitors wanting to speak to loved ones I created a new friend. Maybe she created me. My friend tortured my mind, and I tortured her with my vulnerablity to reside where I was in that seat. She was a nemises yet she pushed me to be that something great. As I grew older I grew out of the imaginary friend stage, though I swear that I have blank memories that I am not sure who existed in my body. Was it my phyiscal presence or did the frail body of my friend dressed in her cotton pajamas take over my physical body. I remember pacing in front of the fireplace dragging the poker seething over the lack of encouragement of my parents to send me to an acamenday where I could focus on the english language (think again .. research). That memory though, I was wearing my long white cotton muslin gown, string hair. But was I covered in perspiration. Or was that Cotton Girl walking in front of me, as I sat in the wing backed chair. Was there two of me that existed? I can not remember what happened, I can not tell you if there were two of me, one of me or just the cotton girl.