Gemotions

The humid air of the yard sale pressed against Clara's skin, making her shirt cling uncomfortably. Rows of dusty treasures and forgotten trinkets blurred as her gaze locked onto a familiar face. Or rather, a familiar stitched-on nose. Sitting on a chipped porcelain doll's head, amongst a pile of broken toys, was Barnaby, her childhood teddy bear. He looked a little worse for wear, one button eye dangling precariously, but the sight of him sent a strange heat through her.

She approached the table, her pulse quickening, and ran a hand over Barnaby's worn fur. It was softer than she remembered. “How much for the bear?” she asked, her voice a little breathy, a little too high-pitched. The old woman behind the table squinted.

"A dollar, dear. He looks a bit loved, that one." Clara fumbled in her purse, her fingers clumsy and fumbling. As she paid, she found herself imagining all the things she had done with Barnaby when she was younger. His little paw in her hand, his stitched mouth.

She clutched Barnaby to her chest, the worn fabric pressing against her. A dizzying sense of elation filled her. She turned and practically ran for the car.