Gemotions

The chipped paint on the plastic bin felt cold against Sarah's fingertips. Inside, nestled amongst a tangle of forgotten toys and mismatched shoes, sat Barnaby. His button eyes, one dangling precariously, seemed to stare right through her. A wave of nausea, unexpected and unwelcome, washed over her. She knew, with a certainty that chilled her to the bone, that Barnaby wasn't meant to be here. Not like this.

The woman running the yard sale, a woman with kind eyes and a tired smile, asked, “You interested in the teddy bear, dear?” Sarah swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry.

“How much?” she managed, her voice barely a whisper. The price was absurdly low, just a few quarters. She could barely bring herself to haggle, the thought of leaving him there, vulnerable to the elements, to the whims of some indifferent child, sent a fresh jolt of distress through her.

Sarah paid and tucked Barnaby under her arm, the faded fur brushing against her cheek. She could feel the ghost of her own small hand reaching for him in the past, her own tear-stained face pressing into his worn chest. He was home now, even if she couldn't take her old house back.