Spoon

SPOON 

“Hi Rachel! I'm your new friend!” 

The four-year old sitting at the kitchen table looked round, her eyes widening.  

What was that voice?  

She was sure she was alone. Mommy was upstairs changing baby Jeremy’s diaper, and there was no one else at home.  But just to make sure, she looked under the kitchen table.   

Nope.  No one under the table.   

Her gaze travelled around the kitchen.  No one there she could see. She slid off her chair and carefully walked over to the pantry and tried the door.  But it wouldn’t open because it was child-locked—not for her, but for baby Jeremy, who was always into everything. 

Still a little confused, she walked back to the table and scrambled up onto her chair.  She picked up her spoon and started to eat her cereal, almost foregetting what had just happened. 

“It’s me, Rachel, your new friend Spoon!” 

Rachel dropped her spoon in her bowl with a clatter, rearing back in her chair. 

“W-w-w-what?” she stammered, her eyes darting around the room. 

“It’s me!  Your new friend Spoon!” 

Rachel looked at the spoon in her cereal bowl, now mostly covered by soggy Cherrios and milk.  It was the spoon she used all the time.  Now it was talking to her, and that scared her. 

“Spoons don’t talk,” Rachel whispered to her breakfast. 

“I’m a special spoon!” the voice said.  “I’m magical!  Only you can hear me!” 

“Not Mommy?” 

“Nope! Not Mommy!” said Spoon. 

“Not Daddy?” 

“Not Daddy!” 

“Not even baby Jeremy?” 

“Not even baby Jeremy,” said Spoon.  “I’m your special friend!” 

Rachel was silently looking at her cereal bowl when her mother Faye swept into the kitchen carrying a squirming Jeremy. 

“Come on, Rachel.  Eat up.  We have to get you to school.  I don’t want you to be late.” 

Rachel looked up at her mom, who was busy trying to wrangle Jeremy into his shoes. 

“I’m not hungry anymore,” said Rachel, still eyeing her cereal bowl. 

Faye stopped struggling with Jeremy and looked at Rachel.  “You okay, sweetie?  You look a little pale.” 

“She won’t believe you,” said Spoon in his sing-song voice. 

“Did you hear that, Mommy?” asked Rachel. 

“Here what?” asked Faye, still trying to get Jeremy to cooperate. 

Rachel looked down at her bowl.  “Nothing,” she said as she slid off her chair and headed towards the back door, where her shoes and backpack were waiting. 

“Hey, Rachel, honey, what do we do with our dishes after we finish eating?” asked Mommy. 

Reluctantly, Rachel returned to the table. She gingerly picked up her bowl and spoon, carrying them to the counter and gently put them down, not looking in the bowl. 

Later that morning at kindergarten, Rachel was standing alone by the wall, while the rest of the kids ran around, playing.  Usually, Rachel was right in there, playing with her friends. But not today. Today she was thinking about Spoon.  She knew that spoons don’t talk.  Only people can talk, nothing else ... well, maybe some birds, but not spoons, and that was the truth!   

She wasn’t sure she liked Spoon.  The idea of a talking spoon scared her.  A lot. And it was weird.  Spoon said that only she could hear him, and that made her special.  She hadn’t felt special for a long time.  Mommy and Daddy had been so busy with baby Jeremy that they didn’t seem to have much time for her anymore.  It would be nice to be special.  But Spoon was scary.  If she was going to have a special friend, she wanted a puppy, not a spoon. 

By the time school was finished, Rachel had decided that she didn’t like Spoon, and he couldn’t be her special friend.   

That evening, when her mother served dinner—spaghetti and meatballs—her mother gave Rachel the spoon.   

Rachel eyed Spoon.  “Can I have a fork, please.” 

Faye was trying to get Jeremy to eat and was distracted.  She sighed as she watched Jeremy smash his dinner into mush on the highchair tray.  “I’m kinda busy here, sweetie.  Can you use the spoon today, please.  You can have a fork tomorrow.” 

“I can get it myself,” said Rachel.  “I know where they are.” 

“Fine,” said Faye.  “Just be careful of the knives.” 

When she had her fork, Rachel dug into her dinner, eating every last bite.  

As she ate her dinner, Rachel kept worrying that Spoon would talk to her, but he didn’t.  When dessert was served, she told her mom that she would just use the same fork.  Faye shook her head, considering briefly what her daughter’s strange obsession with cutlery was all about.  Just as she was about to ask Rachel about it, Jeremy let out a scream of discontent, and all thoughts of spoons, forks, and Rachel vanished as she turned to defuse whatever catastrophe had befallen her younger child. 

After dinner, as Rachel was putting her dishes on the counter, Spoon spoke. 

“You should sneak me up to your room, Rachel.” 

Rachel shook her head.   “No way!  I don't want to.  I’m not allowed to have food in my bedroom,”  

Spoon laughed.   “Silly Rachel!  You’re not taking food to your room, you're just taking me, your friend, Spoon.”    

Rachel thought about what Spoon had said.  It was the truth, but was it right? 

“No!” said Rachel.  “I'm going to tell Mommy and Daddy about you.” 

Spoon laughed again.  “You don’t want to tell your mommy and daddy!  They’ll think you’re weird when you tell them you have a talking spoon for a friend.  They going to get mad at you for making up stories.” 

“I could tell them that you can talk,” said Rachel, hesitantly. 

Again, Spoon laughed.  “Silly Rachel!  They won’t believe you!  Remember, only you can hear me!” 

Rachel was worried.   She wanted to tell Mommy and Daddy.  But Spoon said they would be mad at her.  And Spoon was scary. 

Faye, who had just finished putting Jeremy to bed, stood in the doorway, looking at her daughter. 

“Rach, who are you talking to? 

Rachel’s eyes darted from Spoon to her mother, and back. 

“Just say ‘no one,’” said Spoon. 

“But that’s lying,” said Rachel. 

“What’s lying?” asked Faye, taking a couple of steps toward her daughter who was standing by the sink. 

Rachel took a big breath.  “I’m talking to my spoon.  His name is Spoon.  He told me to tell you that I wasn’t talking to anybody.”  Her voice dropped to a whisper.  “He wants me to lie to you.” 

“What did he say, sweetie?” 

Rachel’s eyes filled with tears.  “He told me to not to tell you because you wouldn't believe me.” 

“Dan!” Faye yelled. 

Rachel’s father came into the kitchen.  Faye explained what Rachel had told her.    

“Hey, Rach,” said her dad.  “How long have you and Spoon been friends?” 

“Since breakfast,” she said, blinking back tears. 

Faye moved forward, to give her daughter a hug.  “It’s okay, honey.  You haven’t done anything wrong.  We just want you to tell us about Spoon.” 

Rachel started crying. “He’s not a good friend.  He wanted me to sneak him into my room, and not tell you.” 

“That’s right, Rachel,” said Dan, “he is not a good friend.  A good friend would never ask you to do something you don't want to do.  

A good friend would want you to do what your parents want.  Isn’t that right, Mommy?” 

Faye released Rachel from her hug.  “That’s right sweetie.  We want you to have good friends, not sneaky ones.” 

Rachel hiccupped and wiped her tears.  “I don’t want Spoon to be my friend anymore,” she said.  “He’s scary!” 

Dan smiled at his daughter.  “How about we throw Spoon in the garbage?  That way, he won’t be able to scare you anymore.” 

Rachel nodded her head yes. 

Dan walked over to the sink, grabbed the spoon from Rachel’s plate, turned and threw it in the garbage pail against the wall. 

“There!” said Dan.  “All gone!”  He wiped his hands together as if cleaning them off. 

“SAVE ME!” yelled Spoon from the garbage can.  “DON’T LET THEM KILL ME!  HELP ME, RACHEL, HELP ME!” 

Rachel’s eyes welled up again.  She looked at her father.  “I can still hear him,” she whispered. 

Faye and Dan looked at each other. 

“What’s he saying, sweetie?” asked Faye. 

Rachel blinked, tears streaming down her face.  “He wants me to save him.  He said you were going to ...” she looked at her parents. 

“It’s alright, Rach,” said Dan, squatting down to Rachel’s level.  “What did he say?” 

“He said you were—” she paused, swallowing hard, “—killing him.” 

Dan smiled.  “We’re not hurting Spoon, honey.  We just don’t want him to scare you anymore, so we’re going to send him away.” 

“Is that okay with you Rachel?” asked Faye. 

Rachel nodded yes.  “I don’t like him,” she said with finality. 

“Good,” said Dan, lifting the garbage bag from the container.  “I’m going to take this outside so that you don’t have to listen to Spoon anymore!” 

Rachel smiled at her father.  “Good!” 

Later that night, long after Rachel had gone to bed, and her parents were sure she was asleep, Faye and Dan sat at the kitchen table talking. 

“Is that normal?” asked Dan.  “Having a talking spoon as a friend?” 

Faye looked up from her phone.  “I just looked it up.  Apparently, it’s perfectly normal.  In fact, having an imaginary friend helps the child learn how to interact with other people.”  She smiled wanly, not quite sure she believed what she had just read.   

“So, having a spoon that only talks to you, is normal?” 

Faye tilted her head left and right.  “The article didn’t specifically say anything about talking spoons, but it did say that sometimes imaginary friends appear when there has been a big change in the child’s life.” 

Dan grimaced.   “Like, say, you have a new baby brother who’s taking up all your parents’ time?” 

Faye nodded.  She knew it was true.  “I think we’re going to have to carve out some special ‘Rachel time’ every day.” 

“Agreed!” he said, putting his arm around Faye’s shoulder and pulling her into him. 

The next morning Rachel sat at the table eating her breakfast.  It was Saturday, and Saturday morning was Waffle Saturday.  Rachel loved Waffle Saturday.  Mommy and Daddy let her cut up her own waffles with her own little knife and fork.  It was hard, but she was getting better at it.  She had just stabbed her first piece of waffle. 

“Hi Rachel!  I’m your new friend, Fork!” 

Rachel burst into tears.