Gemotions

“Well, hello there,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. There he was, in a box of old stuffed animals, looking forlorn. My childhood companion, Reginald, his fur matted and his bow tie askew. A sharp pang hit me, a swift, unexpected jab in my gut.

The woman running the sale was engrossed in a magazine. I walked over and picked up Reginald. He looked so small, so defenseless. I knew immediately what I had to do.

"How much for this one?" I asked, pointing to Reginald. The woman, without looking up, rattled off a price so low it was almost insulting. I didn't dither. I fished out the bills and placed them on the table.