Gemotions

John stared at the bear. It was sitting on a folding table, propped up awkwardly against a porcelain doll with a cracked smile. He recognized the worn patch on its left ear, the one he’d chewed on when he was small.

“How much for the… the bear?” he asked, his voice sounding oddly hoarse. The seller, a man in a stained baseball cap, shrugged.

“Couple of bucks. Gotta get rid of this stuff.” John didn't bargain. He paid and walked away, the bear clutched tightly in his arms. He found a bench in the shade of a large oak tree and sat down. His breath hitched. It was a sensation of disassociation, as if he was watching a stranger’s life.

He hadn’t thought about “Barnaby” in years, yet here he was, staring at his childhood companion. He could almost feel the phantom weight of Barnaby in his arms. The past felt so close, yet unreachable.