I settled down in front of the tv, swinging my five year old legs over the couch and reaching for the small cup I had been too careless to balance correctly. However, I stopped short. My gaze focused on something. A large, bumbling and rather enthusiastic dinosaur bouncing up and around. After a few moments I could understand what he was saying. Something about love and happiness and all of those things that kids my age had always been exposed to, and therefore had no inkling of longing for. I must say though, that at that moment, I felt a stinging dagger of loneliness lodging itself firmly into the crevice of my heart. I had been told my whole life that dinosaurs were something to be feared. I had been told that there were no more dinosaurs around. Had I been lied to? What purpose would someone have to lie about something so...insignificant. Or, at least, it would’ve been if I hadn’t been lied to for five years!!  Questions whirled around my head, warranting answers that I simply didn’t possess. And what choice did I truly have?  Ask the people who had been lying to me for years and years and years. Not only did that dagger lodge itself further into the depths of my heart but it felt like someone had just thrown me into a bed of needles while standing behind, pointing and exclaiming with sheer masochistic glee “Hahahahaha! Tricked ya!”

I watched a moment longer, transfixed by not only this enthusiastic dinosaur but by his friends all hop-scotching and laughing. They all seemed like one big family. One big family that I hadn’t been invited to join. The main question that plagued me was how I could obtain the level of happiness that they seemed to have mastered so perfectly. How could I find and befriend so many? And why, why, did a purple dinosaur have so many friends when I could count mine on one hand? I chuckled for a moment at an inside joke I was already forming. Hatred swirled up inside of me almost threatening to boil over. I was coming up with insult after insult to hurl at that dinosaur when I got the chance. Those insults, merely accompanying the dagger I would pull out of my own bleeding heart and chuck at this happy dinosaur’s face.

My mind regressed backwards as I continued to watch the dinosaur, mesmerized by his dance routine which was merely a series of waddling and turning. The episode charged on as an androgynous, blonde teen–- who was much too tall to have such a soprano-esque voice–- approached a group of kids, inquiring about random things until they finally came across the scheme that would propel their adventure. And off they went to fulfill their merry little dreams while I remained positioned on the edge of the couch haplessly piecing together the shattered pieces of mine. I was afraid to move or talk or think. I was afraid that if I focused on something else, even if for a second, I would lose that dinosaur forever. I would lose my plan to hurl a dagger into his face just as I would lose that feeling of want.

It was that very feeling, though, that made me feel human. It was my first taste of wanting and longing and needing. Up until that point everything had been handed to me. Everything had been set down before me, easily consumable and manageable and obtainable. I hadn’t had to work for my I love yous and kisses. I hadn’t had to work for anyone’s love. I didn’t have to barter anything such as loyalty, friendship or even truth. I had simply been born. That’s all I had ever known. Obligation. No selflessness at all.  I hadn’t been exposed to anything of that kind.

And then a name dropped into my lap like some kind of grand epiphany.  Barney. The miracle had a name.

I hadn’t even realized I was still balancing on the edge of the sofa until I heard my mothers voice “More apple juice?” I jumped backwards, into the cushions, startled by the voice of normalcy. The voice of stability. It was like someone reaching into my own dream–- or nightmare–- and pulling me out. I don’t know if that makes her some kind of angel but at that moment it certainly seemed like it. I broke my gaze away from Barney as my mother advanced, picking up my cup without caution or answer.

She didn’t even know that she had saved me.

Barney was the popular kid that you secretly hate and yet somehow idolize. Barney was the friend making promises before taking breaths. Barney was the one thing that would propel me into a life based on socializing and meeting and greeting. Barney would send me into a completely different life style.

I looked up at my mother with immense thankfulness, taking a sip of my apple juice and pressing the power button on my rectangular remote. I would leave Barney behind on that day. I would bury him and that dagger somewhere deep down, only accessible by some Freud wannabe. I would leave him behind and leave my apple juice on the coffee table, instead deciding to steal one of my brother’s chapter books so I could stare at the pages in order to convince myself that I was making some kind of progress in reading them...not even knowing I was.  And eventually I would learn about people through my young adult character studies. I would learn about wittiness and irony from Douglas Adams. I would even learn about the great metaphor from Shakespeare. I would learn all of this tucked into a corner with my head in a book. I would learn all of this and leave Barney to his friends and socializing. I prefer my books any day.

Making this, the single event that would solidify my love of books and anthropophobia.