Gemotions

The chipped paint on the rocking horse seemed to mock Eleanor. She’d been staring at it for a good five minutes, barely registering the other yard sale treasures. Her breath caught in her throat. Just a few feet away, perched on a dusty card table, was Barnaby. Her Barnaby. He was smaller, somehow, his button eyes loose and lopsided, one ear stitched on at a slightly jaunty angle. A wave of dizziness washed over her. She gripped her purse strap, knuckles white.

"How much for the bear?" Eleanor heard her voice, sounding distant. The woman, a round figure in a floral dress, pointed a stubby finger at the price tag.

"Two dollars," she chirped. "He's seen better days, bless his heart." Eleanor fumbled in her wallet, the unfamiliar plastic feeling cold against her trembling fingertips. She handed over the bills, her gaze locked on Barnaby.

As she walked back to her car, Barnaby clutched in her arms, tears blurred her vision. Her hands were clammy, and she felt a tremor in her legs. She couldn't believe it. He was a piece of her past, unearthed, and now, somehow, holding him felt like a betrayal to the present.