It might appear from another perspective that someone’s life had been nothing but disappointment.
Especially if that someone had kept so much to themselves other than the visible appearance of struggle.
Having not had the remnants of large success, it might seem to have been a triviality of existence.
Another perspective altogether – someone she’d never known – if they’d known, might have thought that, indeed, she had lived large and had remnants of success. But the people she knew, she was sure wouldn’t see it that way. She was sure they saw her as a refugee – not in the same world that they were.
She didn’t like their world so much.
There had been love and romance and beautiful things.
Just no children to speak about it to others after that life had left them alone in the world.
She woke in the middle of the night after just barely having nodded off. It was Christmas Eve. She couldn’t sleep. She’d eaten half a box of Whitman’s chocolates to soothe herself – a present to herself. She felt lonely or some sort of existential ambiguity that was making her feel a need to wrap her arms around something other than thoughts – so she went to her closet and there he was.
Bar – looking her right in the face – waiting.
How had it been decided that Bar was a boy?
She was one when he came into existence – at least to her existence – but one isn’t having existed long enough to know that something else exists – is it?
Perhaps.
She seems to remember him always with her – in a little doll stroller or in her bed being tucked in with another littler bear riding on his tummy.
She tried not to show partiality, but Bar was her first love. The littler brown bear was a love too, but somewhere along the line, he went missing. He was a boy too. Where had he gone? She missed him.
“You’ve lived such and interesting life.”
“Yes…I have,” she replied to the one that said that.
Someone saw.
Some things just need to be saved. Bar. Bar had been with her all her life – less one. What a faithful little bear he’d been. She would never abandon Bar.
Bar spent the night riding on her tummy – a string of colored Christmas lights working as a nightlight.
Bar made her cry, for the realness that he had tucked in with his stuffings.
Christmas came and went – again.
Image by Iván Tamás from Pixabay
Writing Spool 