Being a Grown Up
Most girls typically gave up their dolls and toys around the age of 10 or 11, and DG was no different. She was only recently 10 when she marched into her parents' room and declared that she no longer wanted her dolls and silly stuffed animals. After all, she was going to be a teenager in three years, and she had to prepare herself for the day she'd be a grown up. Her mother, seemingly sad that her little girl was growing up so fast before her very eyes, debated the topic, and it was her husband that eventually settled the argument with a compromise; put the toys in storage. It was fair enough, DG supposed-after all, perhaps her own children would play with them when she was a mother. So, the next day, DG and her father took two large black garbage bags and put all the toys inside, and then left them in the back of the closet to wait for the day that they would be needed once more. DG went to bed that night, feeling very pleased with her grown-up decision.
That night, DG tossed and turned, asleep but dreaming. She made a small whimpering noise and clutched for something that wasn't within her grasp. In fact, if it wasn't for the sudden spark of nearby lightening and the boom of thunder, the dream would have probably persisted longer. DG sat up in bed and looked around, shivering. She couldn't remember what she'd been dreaming about, yet she felt horribly frightened being all alone in the storm. Slowly, she crept out of her room and contemplated waking her parents. She reconsidered the idea, however, and instead decided to make her way to the closet. After all, surely it didn't make her any less of a grown up if she kept one stuffed animal...just to be safe...
"DG, darling, it's
time to get up-" her mother quietly opened the door and then
paused, smiling brightly from ear to ear.
"What's the matter,
Emily, gears jammed ag-" Hank paused when Emily put a finger to her
lips and pointed towards DG's bed.
"I thought we got rid of
all her stuffed animals?"
"That's not just any stuffed
animal," Emily replied back. Though it did not look very different
from all the other stuffed bears DG had ever owned, this one bore a
name, a name that Emily had been sure to carefully stitch into the
animal's foot, "let's let her sleep some more."
The two of
them quietly left the room, the only sound being the soft click of
the door closing. Wrapped in her blankets, DG turned over in her
sleep, clutching Ambrose to herself in a protective hug, looking
extremely peaceful.
...but in a very grown up fashion of course.
I don't own Tin Man. That being said, the next time someone buys me a stuffed bear, I'm totally naming him Ambrose.