Gemotions

The chipped porcelain cat on the shelf seemed to leer at Clara. Each tiny imperfection, usually ignored, now screamed of neglect. This yard sale was a mistake. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t linger, wouldn’t look at the detritus of other people’s lives. Yet, here she was, the air thick with the scent of stale coffee and unfulfilled dreams. Then, tucked beneath a pile of faded children's books, she saw it.

It was a bear, missing one button eye and with a tear in its threadbare belly. A flash of a forgotten past flickered. The bear was identical to Barnaby, lost to the abyss of a packed-away childhood. She could feel a tightening in her chest, a tremor starting in her jaw.

"How much for the… the bear?" Her voice was barely a whisper. The woman, her face creased with sun and worry, named a price that was ludicrously low. Clara fumbled for her wallet, avoiding the woman's gaze. The bear felt heavy, a weight of years and unspoken things.