It was already ten, and Chisto hadn’t come to bed yet. He was slumped over at his desk, head in a textbook, only comin’ up for air occasionally. I was watchin’ him and startin’ to think I should go get someone. It was a little worryin’. I get that it’d been ages since the entire concept of bedtime went poof. Who cares? No boy needs to be studyin’ that late, so crawled down from the bed to say somethin’.
“Hey champ, whatchu doin’?” I says, tuggin’ on his pantleg so he’d have to look down at me. He didn’t even lift his head.
“Mr. Kimble’s math final. Tomorrow. Studying.”
Had anyone ever given a shorter response? This kid was so stressed his gobber had stopped workin’. That’s why he didn’t look down. Not ‘cause he didn’t care about me no more.
“Lemme take a look and maybe I’ll help you out a bit, huh?”
“You’re going to help me find the prime factors of 2316?”
“The prime whatsa?”
He snorted. That was a laugh, right?
“Well, lemme take a look anyway. I helpedchu with those fraction thingys, didn’t I?”
“Sorry, Bobby. I don’t have time to talk to a teddy bear, you understand? I just… thanks anyway.”
He just what?
“Yeah. Yeah. Okay, Christo. I get it. Don’t stay up too late, champ.”
I went back to where I came from, but hey, comfy bed, all to myself, no brat to squeeze the livin’ daylights outa me. It weren’t no banishment.
I know us teddy bears is supposed to real big on all that huggy-lovey crap, but I never really had it in me. I tell you what I did used to have in me though, about three times more stuffin’. This kid’d been slowly pressin’ it all together since he was three, and now I looked like one of those mummies in his schoolbooks. I had a lot more that that once upon a time. My hat. What’s a Boston Bobby Teddy Bear with out his hat, huh? The fur on my left side. (You know what, maybe we don’t talk about that one.)
It’s not that I didn’t love my Christo. You know? It’s not like anyone asked me if I was okay with the job when I was made. One second I’m on the factory line, the next I’m in the kid’s arms. What was I gonna do, just abandon my entire purpose as the kid’s favorite teddy? Poor shmuck couldn’t even sleep without me in his arms until last year.
Sure I pitied him. Who wouldn’t pity a cryin’ child who don’t know no better way to deal with their problems? And I never once bemoaned my lot in life. I liked bein’ there for him. I just couldn’t shake the feelin’ that my job was done now. Was I allowed to be happy about that?
A couple days later he comes into the room right after school and he’s in a real mood. The throw your bookbag across the room, slam the door, and fall backward on the bed kind of mood. Out comes the phone right away, and I know I gotta say somethin’ now or forever hold my peace. (I’d complain with his mom about it later.)
“School was that good, eh?”
He just shook his head a few times. I went over and gave him a big hug. If I tried hard enough, I could still get my arms all the way around his whole head. His hand pressed on my back a second later and I coulda swore I felt a little smile growin’. This worn out ol’ bear still had it. Then he wraps his fingers around me and pulls me away.
“Thanks, Bobby. But can you move over there, please. I’m trying to facetime.”
“Yeah, sure. Whatever you need, Christo. I’ll go sit on the roof if it helps.”
There was that snort again. It was a laugh right? God, these kids are so hard to understand.
“No. And it’s just Chris, now. You can stop calling me Christo.”
Ouch, the drool-soaked clump of suffin’ where my heart should be! Used to be there was only three people allowed to call him that. His dad, me, and his little brother (‘cause he was just too young to say no to). When Dad lost the privilege a little while ago, I knew my days was numbered, but it still hurt.
“Alright, ‘Just Chris.’ You’re a big man, now, right? Mr. Christo-pher.”
What, no snort?
Big Chris didn’t want me around when he talked to that Audrey girl on the phone, and I could understand that. Maybe I’d go read him The Velveteen Rabbit again and he’d be a bit nicer about how he asked next time.
Was it wrong of me to sit there and listen in on his conversation? No one bats an eye when the cat follows them into the bathroom, so I’m gonna say no. It didn’t matter much, anyway. Wasn’t notin’ I could do to make big Chris feel better about a failed math test.
‘Bout a week later Chris is packin’ up his stuff to go to a sleepover with that cool kid, Craig Whatshisname. Seriously, would you have guessed there’d be a cool kid named Craig? Anyway. I knew he weren’t gonna take me along with him to this sleepover. He hadn’t even noticed that I was packin’ my bags at the same time.
“Hey, Chirsto—Chirs, sorry—you got a minute, champ? There’s somethin’ I been meanin’ to tell you.”
He put down his phone for a second and looked up at me. It musta been the first time I got to see him straight on in a while ‘cause I almost spit when I saw the peach fuzz on his lip.
“So, uh, I don’t know how to tell you this, but I’m gonna move out. I think it’s time for somethin’ different.”
He shook his head gently, played with that nasty fuzz, and just said, “Yeah, I know.”
Yeah, he knows?
“Ok, well, great. Then you know. How exactly?”
“I think Mom told me.”
I think I didn’t tell Mom, big Chris.
I says, “Yeah. She probably told you everythin’ then, right?”
He bobbed his head again. “Where will you go? I can’t remember what she said.”
“You remember Froggy? Your big sister’s not-Beanie Baby from back in the day? Turns out he’s got a place up in the attic. Offered me a job pourin’ drinks. Mostly other old toys and rats comin’ though, but it’s a livin’.”
“That’ll be good, Bobby. I’m happy for you.” He started turnin’ away like that was the end of it, like after all those years I weren’t nothin’ but a wadded-up napkin you could use to wipe mustard off your chin and toss aside.
“Actually, Chris. Could you do me a favor before you go off to Cool Kid Craig? I’m gonna need some help gettin’ everythin’ outa here.”
When he sighed, he let out more air than he’d spent talkin’ to me in the last month. He came through for me, though. We was still friends, even if we didn’t really need eachotha no more.
Not bein’ smothered half to death every night felt like bein’ reborn. I had more space than a teddy could dream of. Fancy little two-box apartment right by the window. And the job weren’t half bad neither. Pourin’ drinks came naturally, and I got to see a lot of old friends come through there.
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Sure it wasn’t exactly what I thought I’d be doin’ with my life, but I was determined not to complain. If it weren’t for Froggy getting’ me that job, I’d be back in Chris’s room with notin’ to do but be anotha teddy bear from the factory. To be honest, I was too high on freedom to care about work.
I used to dream of all these great things I’d do as soon as I had a place of my own. I’d write my autobiography. I’d build my own furniture. You know, start really livin’ the dreams I couldn’t focus on with big Chris around to get in my way.
Yeah, that lasted all of a week. I got a paragraph into that autobiography when I remembered why Chris explicitly asked me to stop helpin’ him with his spellin’ homework. I didn’t have none of them fancy tools to build with, so I was sleepin’ on the floor. A month later bought this cheap set of Lego furniture just to keep from goin’ crazy on my time off. Not that I had that much of it.
I was getting’ by off those grab ‘n go meals from the Hoover Corner Store. They called it that ‘cause it was built in the side of that old vacuum cleaner box. Always felt like a cheap name to me. Anyway, the food was good, and it kept me from havin’ to cook. I hated cookin’. Always felt like somethin’ I had to do just to stay alive, not somthin’ I wanted to do.
A month or so into the job Froggy comes up to me and asks to talk in the back. He was almost never there durin’ the day, so I thought he was just tryin’ to catch up or somethin’. Then I noticed the way he was pacin’ back and forth like he was ‘bout to rip a seam.
“Bobby, you know I’ve loved havin’ you here. You’re a good friend. The customers like you.”
I raddled the rocks in my head, waitin’ for that “but.”
“So howscome the numbers on your shifts are always short?”
Woah! He’d taken from pacin’ to yellin’ in no time flat. Giva guy time to react.
Finally, I says, “Whatchu mean the numbers?”
“The numbers, Bobby! You’re not pullin’ in the cash you’re supposed to. You’re sellin’ the product, but you’re not pullin’ the cash. You wanna explain that, smart guy?”
“Boss, really,” I says, “I don’t know. Was one of the drawers short?”
“The drawers, he says. It ain’t about the drawers. You put out three times more liquid than what you sold! Where’s it goin’, Bobby? Are you waterin’ it down like I told you to?”
I froze, and I swear I gave the same exact snort that Chris was becomin’ known for.
“You was serious about that?”
If his eyes wasn’t sewn on, they woulda flown right off with how far he rolled them. I know I’m not the crunchiest cracker at snack time, but no one had ever made me feel that stupid that quickly. What was he supposed to say to the complete and total nimrod standin’ in front of him? But I still woulda preferred he said anythin’ at all.
Truth was, I didn’t feel all too good about waterin’ down the product. I was mostly sellin’ to friends and poor shmucks barely gettin’ by. But Froggy was the owner, and what Froggy says goes. He stuck around for the rest of the shift with this real apologetic demeanor. Like he wanted me to know that everythin’ between us was good and he didn’t mean to yell. I told him to forgetaboutit, acted like it didn’t bother me, but you know it was still on my mind.
By the time I got home that night, there wasn’t anything at all on my mind. For someone with actual stuffin’ in his head, I had never felt so empty up there. I had a new recipe-for-one to make, but I couldn’t think long enough to read the instructions. I had a movie to watch, but it just felt like noise rattlin’ around in my empty noggin. The one or two neurons that was still firin’ in my cotton-ball-brain knew there was somethin’ else I coulda been doin’, but for the life of me I couldn’t remember what it was.
I’d been workin’ at that job like it was some blessin’ from heaven that finally got me out of Chris’s room. Now I realized it wasn’t what I wanted either. And now I couldn’t even remember what I did want. I decided to go back down to Hoover’s, pick up some booze that wasn’t watered down, and try fillin’ up my head again.
That night while I was loopier than some breakfast cereals, I started thinkin’ that the next time there was a big garage sale I should just put myself in it—not that anyone would buy a beat up ol’ teddy like me. Nothin’ had ever made so much sense to me in my life. If I coulda just gone back to bein’ some kid’s plaything like I was supposta be, then I mighta beeen happy again.
Maybe that was the “other” I coulda been doin’ earlier? I was gettin’ some time off that weekend and planned to go downstairs and visit Chris. We didn’t hear from eachotha much no more, and wanted to try fixin’ that. I never cared much for my job down there when I was doin’ it, but I guess it was all I knew how to do. Was my purpose now to just sit around waitin’ for the chance to go back to the life where I used to be happy?
What’s the friggin’ point of strikin’ out on your own, lookin’ for your own meanin’ in life just to go crawlin’ back to what you were given in the first place? No. This was what I had. Nothin’ to do but tough it out. My job with big Chris was done, and so I had to make do. So what if the boss wants me to be dishonest? Not like I got any little kid to set a good example for no more. Whether or not I really chose it, this was that somethin’ different I’d been askin’ for. No one made me come up here to the attic.
Next time I saw Froggy, he went on and on about how much better my numbers were. At least I could still make someone else happy even if doin’ so was killin’ me. I kept that job, and as time went on it wasn’t so painful to keep. It started to feel right again. Like this coulda been the life I chose for myself out of a million possible options.
One day there’s this new face I’d never seen before. One of those G.I. Joe types with stiff joints. He was drinkin’ a glass of water and goin’ to town on our house-made chimichangas like he’d never eaten before. So I went up to him to see what his deal was.
“You’d think that food killed your brother or somethin’ with how violently you’re eatin’ it,” I says.
He licked his fingers off and grinned at me. “I try to taste a little bit of everythin’ in this world. Unfortunately that means I end up eatin’ a lot of things that don’t taste nearly as good as this.”
“That’s an interestin’ way to live your life,” I says. “Haven’t seen you around here before. Were you one of—shoot what was his name—Chirs’s Little brother? Were you one of his toys?”
“No, nothing like that.” He shook his head dismissively. Sorry I asked. “I travel from place to place. A lot of attics and basements. Keeps me busy.”
Busy for sure. It wasn’t too often I’d seen someone goin’ that far out of their way own their own. I knew it weren’t good manners to pry when a man is enjoyin’ his meal, but I had to know.
“How do you do that? Move around, I mean?”
“A lot of difficulty. It takes practice to feel like you know what you’re doing. But it’s easy enough if you have the right motivation.”
I woulda believed right then and there that this man was just part of a dream if it weren’t for the fact that no dream of mine would take place at work. I couldn’t stop starin’ at those plastic bead eyes that had seen so much more of this world than I coulda thought up in a million lifetimes. This was kinda guy who had business writin’ an autobiography.
Finally, I says, “Oh yeah? And what’s motivation for you?”
He doesn’t miss a beat. “Happiness,” he says. “Doesn’t feel right unless I’m making choices for myself. No other way to live.”
Man, I had to smile as wide as I could and think up some excuse to go in the back or I might have strangled the man out of pure jealousy. I always had the suspicion that my life would end up in the slammer anyhow, and I wasn’t ready for that.
“Good for you, man. You keep livin’ the dream.” I shoulda been a ventriloquist for how good I did talkin’ through that closed smile. But I was outa there and he weren’t lookin’ at me like I was weird, so it was a win.
The next few days that was all I could think about. I thought that movin’ out of Chris’s bedroom had been freedom. Just havin’ my own place and a job that let me keep it. Freedom, sure, but only partial and with happiness sold separately. It got me into one of those moods where you just can’t bring yourself to do anythin’ at all. You sit around mopin’, wishin’ there was more whiskey in the bottle over your fridge so you don’t have to go out, lettin’ the trash pile around you. Maybe that’s just me, but anyway it got so bad that I blocked out my entire weekend just to take care of the mess.
I get to work halfway through the week and there’s Froggy again. He came up to me and put his hand- flipper-thing on my shoulder like we were real chummy. He made real nice like he couldn’t believe it’d been so long since we’d seen eachotha, then he made his big ask.
“I had to redo the schedule, Bobby. You understand, right?”
He handed me the new paper folded up like a brochure of my future and smiled at me. Yeah. He wanted me to come in on the weekend when I had planned to be cleanin’.
“Sure thing, bossman,” I says. But then I looked at the paper a little closely while he started to walk away, and I don’t know what came over me. I’d never backtracked so hard so fast. “Only, no. Not really. I can’t do this schedule.”
“Bobby,” he says with his arms held out, “you’re a good trickster, Bobby boy. I know you don’t mean it.”
“I do mean it, Froggy. I have things to do this weekend.”
Yeah, stuff I gotta do that I don’t even wanna do. Why was I tradin’ one shit deal for another? Here was this chump tryin’ to take away somethin’ I don’t even want and replace it with somthin’ I want even less.
“I don’t think I can do this no more,” I says. “I’m not happy here, Froggy. I miss my life back in Chris’s room, and you remember how bad it was for me back there.”
He just looked at me tryin’ to hand the schedule back to him and shook his head.
“You gotta do what you gotta do, Bobby. I’ll be here to greet you on Saturday if you change your mind. Seeya later.”
Alright. So that was how it went down. I snorted. No, I laughed a bit. All of that dishonesty, all those sleepless nights, and that was the grand finale, huh? No big send off. No beggin’ me to stay. I quit, and that was the end.
When I got home—yeah I finished out my shift—everythin’ felt the same. There was still trash everywhere. I still didn’t want to do much more than drink and go to bed. But now it was my freely-chosen life and there was no one else to blame it on. Was there even any hope for me now? I had my freedom again, but it didn’t feel like the same freedom I had when I first left Chris’s room. For all I knew, I would just muck it up again, end up right back where I started. Unhappy, alone, too tired to care. But it wouldn’t be the same because this time whatever came down life’s open highway would be shit of my own choosin’.
End