“You pronounced it Saggy with an a toward the back of your throat–” as in father– “remember?” my mom said.
I remembered. And I remembered that one day, my imaginary friend, Saggy, left me. But only for a time. He returned after his wedding with Mrs. Saggy.
“Do you know where Saggy came from?” Mom asked.
I didn’t, so she revealed the mystery: when I was a toddler, strapped into my car seat as we returned home from whatever errand (side note: I also learned that as a baby, I was thrown into the bassinet in the back seat–unstrapped! How did we survive the 70s?), the cat would skitter across the driveway to the front door to await us.
“There goes that saggy cat again,” Mom would say. (The cat’s stomach sagged from an operation.) But from my perspective in the back seat (in or out of a car seat), I couldn’t see the cat.
One day, we pulled up, and I announced, “There goes Saggy again!”
We can’t figure out where I got the name Monan. To be honest, Monan and I were closer than Saggy. Perhaps that’s because Monan didn’t leave me to get married.
Moral of the story: point of view is everything.
And I’ve always been a little crazy.