Gemotions

He saw it from across the street. The familiar, floppy ears. The button eyes. It was Barnaby, his childhood companion, displayed atop a rickety table covered in dust. He felt a pang, a cold contraction in his chest. A younger girl was already examining him, her fingers tracing the worn fur.

He stayed rooted to the spot, watching as the girl’s mother haggled over the price. A knot tightened in his stomach. He’d searched for Barnaby for years, convinced he'd somehow survived the move, the attic, all of it. Now, some stranger would claim him. The girl squealed with delight, clutching the bear.

He finally crossed the street, drawn against his will, and bought a box of old VHS tapes at the next table to seem like he wasn't standing there gawking.