Gemotions

The afternoon light cast long shadows across the overgrown lawn. Michael, usually a man of meticulous order, found himself wandering aimlessly through the yard sale, his senses dulled, the weight of his recent loss dragging him down. Then, a splash of familiar color. He stopped dead. Theodore, his old teddy, sat propped up against a stack of chipped plates.

A gasp escaped him. It was a physical response, involuntary, as though someone had struck him. He approached slowly, the world around him fading. The bear's fur was worn, his nose almost gone, but there was no mistaking that familiar face. He remembered the stitches, the conversations, the whispered secrets. He felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach.

He didn't bother haggling, didn't even speak. He simply paid the woman, his fingers clumsy, and clutched the bear, the familiar scent of old cotton and childhood clinging to the air. The relief of purchase was fleeting, soon eclipsed by the overwhelming awareness of what he couldn't get back.