The Girl That Used to Love You

I FOUND THE GIRL that used to love you," he said into the stillness and the dark.

This was the magic language of these healers, spoken by teddy bears and velveteen rabbits and other such well-loved dolls and stuffed animals, little synthetic shamans as they were. A Morse code carried through conduits of dream and memory and powered by love. Distant, half-glimpsed nodes of secret communication that seemed to transcend time, like telegraph poles at the bottom of an ancient ocean.

Communion with the ancestors.

Sometimes it was the only way instructions and well-wishes could be passed along, and such a coming-of-age ritual was important, even if for no other reason than simple continuity.

It took a moment, a long moment, for the voice to come drifting back to him through the years. As teddy bears go, thirty years isn't long--but to us humans, it was a long time indeed, and the other voice was scratchy, like an old radio.

"Oh? Is that so?" It sounded like his own, like an echo.

Which made sense, as they were one and the same, but not quite--the same brand, the same name (Stanley), manufactured by the same factory, in 1986--but this one had been kept in mint condition by a collector for all that time, while the echo had been loved and loved, until his hair had been hugged flat and one of his eyes was missing and some of his stuffing was gone, and the distinctive red-and-yellow bowtie had been lost.

At the end, he smelled of the salt of tears and sweat, which meant that he'd done his job. All this knowledge flooded through the link as the now-bear heard the then-bear, like a handshake, and for a brief instant, they were one.

"Yep."

After that, the now-bear wasn't sure what to say, only that he'd been quite eager to share the good news. He looked down at his own bowtie, still new and satiny.

"I can't believe she remembers me, after all this time," said the echo, the then-bear.

"Oh, yes," he replied. "She told her husband about you after they'd seen one of us in the window of a children's clothing store a few months ago. He tried to buy that one when she wasn't looking, but they weren't willing to part with it. He found another on the Internet and bought it--me--for her. And after a long ride in a mail truck, here I am.

"I'm in pretty good condition," now-bear continued. "So I should carry on for a pretty long while. I can't help but feel as though I was saved for just this time, and just this place. I always knew I had a purpose that wasn't just sleeping in a plastic bag."

"Well," remarked the scratchy voice. "How is she, then? I shouldn't like to think too highly of my skills of comfort, but how is she?"

He looked over at the grown woman asleep next to him. The now-bear was wedged between the pillow and the wall, in a cozy little space at the corner of the bed. In this soft darkness, he couldn't see the sparse white hairs that had sprouted at her temples, but he could smell the coconut shampoo, and hear the low, oceanic rhythm of her breathing.

"Brother bear, I think it's been a hard few years without you. She cried when she saw me, and cries half the time she holds me. I don't know when you last saw her, but I can tell that time and the world have not been kind to her."

"What a shame," said the echo, faintly, bleakly.

Now-bear concentrated on the dream-channel, afraid of losing the voice. "But I'm doing the best I can to heal her. I can feel it working."

"Oh dear," said the echo, "my little girl. My dear sweet little girl. I had hoped that after all that frightful behavior she had to witness from her father, that she would have had an easier time after my watch had ended. I had to fend off so many nightmares! A bear wouldn't believe! But it sounds as though things didn't get much better."

The now-bear sighed. "Well they must have, hadn't they? Or perhaps I might not have found my way to her. She's been through a lot, but circumstances must have improved. The man takes good care of her. No bruises. I haven't heard any shouting. She is in a good place now."

Silence. Now-bear hesitated fearfully, but the echo returned. "I'm glad." The relieved smile in his voice was unmistakable.

"I'll take good care of her too," said the now-bear.

"Thank you," said the echo. "I helped her as long as I could. Protected her from the things that lurked in the dark corners of the night. Caught the bad dreams before they could trouble her. Gave her a safe place to go when everything got to be too much. I'm happy to know that one of us made it long enough to . . . to . . . ."

"Hmm?"

"I did what I could. I only hope it was enough."

"Rest now," said the now-bear. "I'll carry her the rest of the way."

"Thank you," repeated the echo.

That was the last he heard from from the old guard. The now-bear settled in for a long vigil. A fan at the end of the bed oscillated quietly. Light washed across the clapboard ceiling as a car drove by, rumbling up the street. Soon, the sun would be up. But for the next seven hours, he had a job to do. And so very late though he was for his shift, the little old bear meant to do it.

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