Editor’s note: This piece was originally written by Valerie Royzman during the Spring 2019 semester. It can be read in its entirety here.
When my grandmother died, I wonder if her imaginary friend died with her. Actually, he wasn’t a friend at all. He traveled with her from Znamenka, Ukraine, to Toledo, Ohio, in 1993. He slept on her perfectly smooth, blue couch and left it wrinkled when he was done.