Until Next Time (Nonfiction)

It's dark in here, cold. And lonely. But I always think back to you and remember my purpose. You haven’t touched me since your parents divorced and your dad moved across the country to Oregon three years ago. I guess you're growing up, but I will always be here in case you need me. A couple of months ago, I overheard your dad talking... when he revealed that he planned on moving. I knew that the day you would be reminded of me would come soon. Thinking about it made my heart race and my tail wag. I could barely sit still from the excitement rushing throughout my body, but it also made me sad. The tension wafting through the air tickled my nose. Sensing the sorrow that you felt as those words ripped through your body, I could imagine the disappointment on your face. I wished that I could do more to help, that you would take me down from this cage and hold me. Weeks went by and you continued to push off packing, but with the move approaching rapidly, you eventually had to accept it. I heard you mope into your room this morning, your feet dragging behind you across the hard, hickory wood floors. You shut your door loud enough to convey your unhappiness to the rest of the inhabitants of your soon to be ex-home. The slam was hard enough to also vigorously shake the shelf I laid on which woke me up out of my rest.

You glanced around your desolate room. Boxes filled the floor, making it difficult to pass from one end to the other. You weren't ready for the move. You weren't ready to leave for another neighborhood away from your friends and everything that you had known about Eugene those past three years. There were two boxes left. It was perfect for the last items you had to pack, your stuffed animals. Pushing open the closet door, unmotivated, you began piling your collection into the grim, cardboard boxes. Reaching for the last animal, you pulled me down: your small Dalmatian dog. I no longer held the smell of our Tennessee home; I now smelled of an old, dusty closet. You ran your fingers across my face. My fur had become raggedy over time. Thirteen years ago, when you first laid eyes on me, my soft fur drew your attention and you begged your mom for me. Your older brother had a two-foot tall Dalmatian stuffed animal named Jackson. You had always wished for one like his. My size didn’t matter to 5-year old you and when you finally obtained a Dalmatian of your own, you named me Jackson as well. Lifting my right ear, you saw that underneath still laid the dried glue that had fastened it down to the side of my face a long time ago. Back then, you brought me everywhere. You slept with me, played with me all day, and took me in the car on trips to your grandparents' home. Over the years, damage was certain to happen. You pulled on the pink cape from a Barbie doll set that you had knotted around my neck one day. It still remained tightly knotted and if you threw me in the air, I bet I would still fly as well as I did years ago. A few days after you decided to tie it on, you tried to take it off but failed because you had knotted it too tight. Luckily the cape grew on the both of us.

By now you had made it to the hard, hickory wooden ground of your room, reliving all of those memories that we shared. All of those times that you turned to me for comfort. Until next time, I saw written across your face. Until next time, I thought back. You placed me in the brown, cardboard box with the other stuffed animals and reached for the packing tape. Folding over the top of the box and taping it securely, I watched the worry flood out of your body as a smile began to form across your lips. My job is done.