Her tears signaled the end of the world, nay–of the universe. “I can’t find it!” she sobbed, terribly.
Mother and Father were irritated, but the sight of her tears and the depth of her sorrow painted them with compassion. Father looked at Mother, his eyes saying, go help her. Mother rose from her needlepoint and slipped down the hallway, trailing calm. She entered her daughter’s room, which looked like it had barely survived a category 7 hurricane: there were toys and assorted bric-a-brac everywhere. “What is it, dear?”
“Where is it? Where is bunny?” the girl wailed. “He was right here and now he’s gone!”
Mother rung her hands; she had slipped the bedraggled bunny from the room yesterday and after attempting to wash him, had discovered–quite by accident–that he should have been touched up by hand, the gentle cycle having been not quite so. She had him tucked in her needlepoint bag, awaiting such a time as she could affect repairs. Quickly, she crept to the child’s side. “There now,” she cooed, the plan cooked up fully, “you mustn’t fret so. The more noise you make, the farther away he’ll go.”
Mother had the girl’s full attention; she snuffled, her tears momentarily abated. “What do you mean?”
“What do bunny’s ears look like?”
The child thought, her brow furrowed. “They are long and floppy.”
Mother smiled. “Yes–that’s right! And when ears are big, they hear better. So the more noise you make, the more it hurts bunny’s ears and he has to move far away so they won’t hurt as much.”
“But will he come back?” Her little chest heaved as she attempted to hold back another flood of tears.
Mother hugged her. “Of course he will, but we must be quiet, mustn’t we? Once you get good and quiet and stay quiet for a time, I bet bunny will be right back where he always is.” As she talked, Mother guided the obviously exhausted girl to the one clear spot on her bed, into which she promptly curled up and fell into a fitful sleep. Mother took that as a sign to move quickly; she returned to her needlepoint bag which sat next to the table that sat next to a quizzically-faced Father. She pulled bunny from the bag as Father’s eyes grew wide. In a hushed voice, she told him what she had shared with the child, all the while rapidly making repairs. Father gave a nod of approval when, moments later, Mother held up the healed (if slightly more lopsided) bunny. She crept down the hallway and as the girl continued to sleep, slipped bunny back into the top dresser drawer.
The clock struck two and as if on cue, Father and Mother heard a blood-curdling cry, but this time of delight. Into the room came the child with bunny in tow by his thin and crooked neck. “Look!” she cried. Remembering, she lowered to a fine whisper, “Bunny is back!”
Those folks over at the Daily Post sure know how to take us back, don’t they? I mean…what is one to do when asked
Describe an item you were incredibly attached to as a child. What became of it?
The story above is nearly true. I had a special bunny as a child; he was handmade just for me by a wonderful and dear friend of my mother’s named Ms. Shirley. I carried him about by the neck, which soon became thin and floppy. He was yellow, for a while, but may have started out a pale shade of green since green is my mom’s favorite color; he eventually became that beige color that all plush toys turn when dragged about, flung, and child-abused as such things are when favorited by dangerous small children. He has been out of my memory for so long that I could be completely wrong about those colors, but it is now so, sayeth Madame Muse.
Anyway, my mother’s friend had married a second time and this husband was from some Eastern European country; I loved his accent–sentences like “take the medicine twice a day” became “take-ed the medcine two times each day.” They had full-sized poodles and a pool table at their house, which we visited from time to time. I kept the bunny Ms. Shirley had made for me in the top drawer of my dresser, a horrid wicker thing (whichever of my parents thought having this in my room was a good idea was sorely mistaken…).
At some point, bunny vanished. I was heartbroken. But then he reappeared a few years after Ms. Shirley died after a courageous 15-round prize fight with cancer; the judges ruled it a TKO, but cancer got its butt stomped by Ms. Shirley a few times since she never went down without a joke or a fight. And then bunny vanished again. I think I know where he is though and when I get a chance I will go looking. Promise to post a real photo if I’m right.