The time when my best friends lived in my kitchen closet.

I'll start this one off with a disclaimer: my family did not take any of my friends hostage and stuff them in the broom closet. That being said, I'll give my statement some context.

I grew up in the city. There's none of this huge houses with trampolines and pools suburbs stuff where I'm from. When you look out the window, you see right into your neighbors window. As a side note, I've come to the conclusion that all the houses in this little neighborhood were designed by the same architect. If I go to a neighbor's house for the first time, I can already determine where the bathroom is--to the right of the living room, between two bedrooms in close proximity to the stairs. This is the case with literally every house I have ever been into in this neighborhood. All kitchens are the same shape, and living rooms are the same size rectangle. I don't want to, however, give the impression that I live in one of those clusters of identical houses. Nah, in my neighborhood, every house looks different. For awhile, there was a big theme of blue-trimmed stucco houses but we settled that by repainting our trim brown. It took me about fourteen years to finally realize that the blueprints of all my friend's houses were the same as mine, which is proof of the diversity.

With fourteen other houses on the block (not to mention the numerous blocks surrounding), I was bound to find a few friends. The first friend  I, or rather my brother, made was named Ashley. We first moved to this house when I was about six months old. Upon arriving, my brother and sister were intrigued by the gas station at the end of our block, which we later referred to as "The Corner Store." Eager to explore the new neighborhood, Ben and Sarah ventured to The Corner Store for some candy. On their way, they encountered two kids playing on their front lawn just down the street. Their names were Ashley and Cody. They were siblings. The details of the rest of that day are useless, except that it resulting in a friendship with Ashley and Cody. So, Ashley is my longest standing friend, as I cannot remember a time when she was not there. I grew up with a best friend five years older than me for years.

As time moved along my family adjusted to the new house. There may be stories worth telling somewhere in there, which I will explain later. But first, I must finish my tale about my friends. My sisters started meeting all sorts of "Neighborhood Girls" as I've always called them, as if they were some entity in themselves, so my pool of faces grew larger. Soon it grew to include some of the little sisters of  the " Neighborhood Girls." One of the most notable was McKenna. We were like two peas in a pod. We underwent all kinds of ridiculous things as children. Another indispensable part of my childhood was my friend Melissa. Her and I grew closer in many ways then the others. But we didn't see each other as much because she actually lived in a nearby neighborhood. Her grandparents lived next door to me, and she would go there every day after school until her parents got home from work. Her little brother Tony was there, too.

In a different sphere of life, I had my one church friend, Brittany. Every week after Sunday-school, (every week may be an exaggeration, it's hard to tell) we would play at one of our houses. We would play with dolls, stuffed animals, real animals, each others' hair, etc. She, too, was (and still is) a very important aspect of my life.

All of these friends worked out really great for awhile. But only for awhile. Soon they collectively decided to hate each other. McKenna hated Ashley especially. Ash was old enough to know it's stupid to hate little playful girls, but constantly talked of the immaturity with which McKenna approached everything. I suppose she was right, but we were all young and naive. Melissa tried to stay out of it for the most part, but McKenna really bothered her. She didn't care too much for Ashley, either. I think she was intimidated by her age. Brittany did not hate, but was only hated. Every Sunday that I brought her over, the other girls would get jealous. One time, standing beneath the smaller of the two trees in my yard (where a lot of significant events in life seemed to happen), McKenna and Melissa were arguing with each other, outraged that two people would want to play with me at the same time. The argument escalated into a small cat-fight. In an effort to separate them, I stretched out my arms between them. They ceased this opportunity to really decide who was the better friend. Each took a hand, as if telepathically communicating their intention, and pulled me between them.

I was outraged. How could they be so immature? Ash was right. My solution to this problem, and I very vividly remember thinking this out, was that I wouldn't have friends anymore. They were too problematic. Instead, I resolved to spend every day in the comfort of my house where I would make my own friends, and bask in constant imagination. I was determined not to be bogged down by silly things. I searched my house for my new companions, and chose two new best friends: Broomy (a broom) and Moppy (a mop). They lived inside the Broom closet in my kitchen. Each day when I wanted to play with them, I hopped into the closet  (which was also the resting place of our trash can), and shut the down, encasing myself in a very small and smelly space. I would fiddle with my fingers, pretending to press buttons. Then I would wait approximately fifteen seconds, or until I couldn't handle the smell of rotting bananas, and I would nonchalantly walk out of the "elevator" unto to the "third floor apartment" of my "friends" Broomy and Moppy. My attachment to them was short lived but severe. I would often carry them around everywhere I went. When I couldn't take both somewhere, I would settle for just Broomy, since he was my favorite. One day I was so obsessed, that I refused to take a bath without bringing Broomy into the bathtub with me. I washed his "hair" and scrubbed his... "neck"?

I'm not sure if it was the lack of the response from my friends, or just the psychological need for humans to have real friends, but somehow I was soon playing with human beings again. My habits of-- shall we say creativity?-- stayed with me for years, though. Other humans were usually my primary source of friendship and comfort, but since then I would often turn to inanimate objects for entertainment. Such instances included when I would have pop bottles perform weddings, when I would play house with the "family" of scissors we owned, and when I would play high school with markers.