The carnival was moving to a new town. The toys were staying at one of the carts –one where the main pieces of machinery were kept, filling the place with nice little nooks and corners to sleep and sit and lean onto. Bo, having parked her skunk-cycle safely against a couple of iron beams, lit a small lantern she carried for these opportunities, and so her gang gathered around the light. Ducky and Bunny were trying to play cards without letting the other see theirs (which, being joined at the hands, was not an easy task) while Duke Caboom, who had found a little forgotten tube of lipstick, was attempting to repaint some parts of his motorbike. In the meantime, Bo and Giggle talked excitedly about what the new town would offer, what type of children would be there –and new emergency plans in case of dogs, which were much more common than cats and, if they swallowed Giggle or found Bo Peep, could start a whole situation that could easily end up in disaster.
As they did all this, Woody kept his distance, staying against the wall, gazing through a crack in the wood of the cart walls at the clear night sky. Despite the speed of the train the stars could be seen perfectly, twinkling bright against the pure dark blue. The trees raced along them, their leaves lit silver by a beautiful full moon. He moved away from the wall and wandered around, lost in thought. Bo noticed, and walked up to him, her sheep following her close by.
"Hey… You okay?"
"What?" Woody snapped out of his daze. "Oh, yeah, I'm okay. I'm doing okay. You okay?"
Bo chuckled. "What's on your mind, cowboy?"
"Nothing, I was just…" Woody let out a little laugh, petting Goat (or was that Gruff?), knowing how corny he would sound. But with Bo, he was never really afraid of being a bit corny once in a while. "I was thinking of Andy again. When I went on car rides with him, I never looked out the window. I didn't care what was outside. But now, out here… The trees are so beautiful in the moonlight, and so is the lake… I don't know," he sighed. "I guess I'm noticing all I've been missing out on."
Bo rubbed the back of his neck. "You sure you're okay, honey?"
"Yeah," Woody said, smiling at her. "Don't worry about me."
"Okay, alright then. Hey everybody, gather up!" said Bo, and her sheep bounced back to her side. "Let's plan for tomorrow, shall we?"
"Yeah, there's no fun in this. Ducky's a serial cheater," said Bunny, throwing his cards down.
"Don't you dare call me that!" cried Ducky. "My eyes just happened to set on your deck! It looks a lot like my deck!"
"Sure –main difference being that my deck's looking a lot better than your deck!"
"Guys, c'mon," said Giggle. "That's a silly thing to argue about."
"Silly? Imagine your partner being a serial cheater, then tell me if that seems silly to you."
"I have never cheated! In my life! I am absolutely honest and… Hey, wait a minute. How did you know your deck's a lot better than my deck?" said Ducky, and gasped. "You've been the cheater all along!"
"How dare you!"
"Guys!" said Giggle. "Please!"
They both left their cards and hung their head in shame. Bunny sighed. "She's right. I'm sorry, Ducky. I never meant to hurt you. You know I love playing with you. No matter how hard it gets."
"No, I'm sorry, Bunny," said Ducky. "I shouldn't have been taking cards out the maze each time you looked at your deck. That's too close to actual cheating, you know. And I'd never do something like that."
"What are we gonna do, Peep?" asked Duke. "Plan the next playtime?"
"I've thought so…" Bo looked at Woody, who had sat on the floor around the lantern, staring at her. Bo then had an idea. "But I'd also like to do something different tonight. You all know Woody, of course."
"The ex-sheriff," said Ducky.
"Were proud of you for leaving the pigs, comrade," said Bunny.
"Hey!" cried Giggle. "You know I'm head of pet patrol!"
"Aw, you know you're different, Dimples," said Ducky.
"Yeah," said Bunny. "You're like a vet –a pet cop –a vop –a pop –copet –vetpetcop –pet enforcer..."
"No," said Giggle in a deadpan. "That's even worse."
"What would you prefer, then?" asked Bunny. "Animal catcher?"
"I thought copet was the best one," commented Ducky.
"What I mean to say," continued Bo. "Is that we all know each other pretty well –but I bet you still have some questions about Woody."
"Yes, I have one –what is Woody short for?" asked Duke. "Woodrow? Woodbert? Woodinson? Woodpecker?"
"How did you get to be a sheriff?" asked Ducky.
"Have you ever jailed anyone?" asked Bunny.
"How many years have you on the job?" asked Giggle.
"I meant more like questions of who he is," said Bo, trying to stop the flurry of inquiries. "Many of us spent a long, long time not being played with, but for Woody playtime comes natural."
"Well," smiled Woody, quite flattered. "I wouldn't say natural..."
"Hey –hey –I still have a question," said Ducky. "How did you get to be a sheriff?"
Woody sighed, but it was at least a question he could answer. "I was made as a sheriff. I've had the role and my badge for as long as I can remember."
"I knew it," said Ducky to Bunny, lowering his voice. "He's inherited the job. Dang nepotism..."
"What else can you remember?" asked Giggle.
"Huh?"
"Yeah, what's your real story, cowboy?" she insisted.
"I already told you," smiled Woody. "And I've made my best to add as much detail as I could recall."
"No, I don't mean that… I mean the before. How did you get to Andy's room in the first place?"
Woody, still smiling, looked up at Bo. She looked back, with a questioning glance and a slightly worried look on her face. Woody took a deep breath.
"I don't think… It's not a very interesting story. It's long, and tedious, and boring, and long…"
"Come on!" said Giggle. "How long could it really be?"
"Yeah, sheriff," added Duke. "I mean, look at me! I'm an old boy like you, made for the Great Christmas Demand of 1975—"
"I was made in 1952," said Woody quietly.
Everyone turned at him in surprise. Woody wished he had kept his mouth shut.
Giggle let out a nervous chuckle. "Oh my," she said. "In that case it's truly crazy that you've gone so long without some real wear and tear. Am I right, Bo?"
"Why don't I know that?" blinked Bo, confused. "Did you… Did you ever tell me, Woody? Have I just forgotten…?"
"Well –Jessie and I told you, we and Bullseye were originally characters from a TV show..."
"Yes, but I thought you were reproductions," said Bo. "You know, newer toys made to look just like the originals…."
"Oh, yeah," said Duke proudly. "Beware the knockoffs. Marge had to send me to a specialist historian to make sure that I was the real deal."
"But –did you ever tell us you were made so long ago?" Bo asked Woody.
"No, no, it's just…! I never told anyone."
Giggle glanced at Bo. She didn't return the glance.
"Alright. I mean, it's not like we haven't seen some serious elderly folk at Second Chance…" said Giggle.
"Yes, Woody," said Duke sympathetically. "No prejudices here. We won't judge you on your age."
"Thanks, guys," said Woody. "Well… Do you really want to know? I'm more interested in what you all did before getting into Second Chance –like, what about you, Duke? How did you get here all the way from Canada? And you, Giggle? I bet you've got quite a story—"
"Just tell us, Woody!" said Bo. "We got time. If we get bored, we'll tell you."
"Yeah, don't worry about that," grinned Giggle.
"Alright. Alright," said Woody. "I… Gosh, it's been a while since I haven't… It was a very long time ago…"
Sunlight streaming through clear windows, specks of dust floating around –that was the first thing Woody remembered. There was the gentle twang of guitar music from a radio, and an old man wearing a striped shirt by the cash register was reading a newspaper. There was an assortment of blurry colors in the store, of brightly painted dolls, cars, guns and soldiers, all type of figures and shapes, made irregular by the layer of slightly-crumpled, see-through plastic between him and the outside. He was still, in his box, watching everything silently. As the sun left and the store went dark, the old man left too and locked the door, and some toys –those who were not firmly packed in their respective boxes –ran across the checkered floor, chatted among them, went to the window and gazed out of it, to the twinkling world outside, just like Woody –just like the other toys still in their packaging. And then morning came –everyone went back to their places –and the old man would unlock the door and the store would open.
And every day, like clockwork, just by the time the shadows in the store became long and the sunlight was particularly yellow, children –shorter, smoother-skinned versions of the old man that guarded the store –pressed their faces against the window glass, watching in, excitedly. Some of them pointed at the dolls, at the hula hoops, at the toy guns –and some, several in fact, pointed at Woody –and he felt a twinge of pride, of satisfaction. For some reason, those children seemed so happy to see him. And he realized how happy that made him –their glee felt contagious. Sometimes children would rush inside, making the little bell by the door ring relentlessly, and they grabbed at everything, and crowded around the brighter, more colorful toys, and looked around and called each other's attention; and many gazed at him longingly, and Woody felt like a million bucks.
A few weeks went on like this. People –truly, mostly adults –came and purchased boxes of Woodys that looked exactly like him, and they were put into a bag and left through the ringing door, hopefully to some loving home. Finally a tall man in a suit came into the store, glanced around, and as he came across Woody he smiled. He asked the striped-shirt man to pack and wrap it for a present, and so Woody's box was taken from the shelf, was wrapped in darkness and taken on a bumpy ride somewhere that would become his new place.
The box was opened by a short, stout freckled boy, and as soon as his gaze fell on Woody, his face lit up and he let out a delighted gasp.
"Sheriff Woody! He looks just like he does in the show! Aw, thanks Pops!"
The boy gave his father a big hug, as the mother laughed.
"Now, Davy, there's one more gift for you..."
But the boy, Davy, only had eyes for Woody. As soon as he was excused he went to his room, clicking his tongue to make the sound of a galloping horse. He pulled Woody's string to hear him say in a clear, resolute voice, You're my favorite deputy!
The following years were some of the happiest in the young pair's life. Davy didn't have the whole set of Woody's Round Up toys, but he did have a tin toy horse named Applebite, which became Woody's new steed. Davy also had several small papier-mache figurines he made himself, of different little critters Woody was often saving from some dastardly plan concocted by the evil Professor Atom –an old, flaky wooden puppet covered in shiny crumpled tin foil. And, of course, Davy also made amazingly detailed sets of cardboard locations for playtime: a saloon with a working door, several tables and stools made of real balsa wood, a bar with tiny cups and bottles, and a functioning toy piano on the end of the room, next to a set of stairs leading nowhere; a lair for the villain, full of shelves where he kept his weapons –all made with papier-mache as well; and he painted them all with careful strokes of leftover chalk paint.
Davy always took Woody with him when he watched TV, always at the announced airing time, each week, to catch the latest episode of Woody's Round Up or The Lone Ranger. Mom didn't allow him to watch too much TV, "it'll rot your brain into mush", she always said, and when he was alone Davy repeated the phrase, and even made it the concept behind one of Doctor Atom's super-rays. As Mom didn't have a job like Pops did she stayed almost exclusively at home, doing at least two of her usual activities, which would include cleaning, washing, vacuuming, ironing, cooking, talking through the phone, sitting by the window, staring at the wallpaper, drinking, and giving orders to Davy. Davy would read his Frontiersman comics strips, trying to ignore his mother, receiving the orders in silence. And this would make Mom even angrier.
"Wash your teeth, stand up straight, chew with your mouth closed! Stop mumbling, stop running around, stop complaining all the time!" mocked Davy when her mother wasn't nearby, when he came home from school and was playing with his toys. "You should be happy you don't have a mother, Woody…"
And Davy always talked to Woody as if, for some reason, he knew Woody could listen. He commented on his friends and parents' behavior and told him about his day almost as if they were lifelong friends. When he had nightmares and couldn't go back to sleep, late into the night, Davy told Woody about his fears and held him tightly, either until his tears dried or until he fell asleep again.
The other toys –Applebite and Professor Atom, especially –were the most helpful at understanding how to be there for Davy. Applebite had been around since Davy was a baby, and knew exactly what comforted him and what made him anxious. Usually, as Woody found out, Davy liked having something soft to hold on to when he was nervous, angry or scared, whether it be a pillow, a piece of cloth or even Woody's own soft ragdoll body. When Davy was happy, he liked having everything in sight, easy to spot and move as he saw fit. He became distressed when his room was too messy, and Woody never discovered whether it was because of his own desire for order or because of a fear of being punished by Mom. Not even Applebite knew.
Professor Atom, on the other hand, hadn't been around for so long, but he was incredibly attentive and had a good ear and eye (metaphorically speaking; both features' factory paint was peeling quickly) to detect things not even Applebite could notice. Professor Atom was an old puppet that Davy had fished out of a garbage bin on the street; he used to be called Marvelous Merlin, a wizard for a puppet show depicting King Arthur's adventures. Time had not been kind to him, but his naturally chipped and rotting wood were perfect for a supervillain; Davy had only needed to wrap him up with tin foil and repaint some of his features to have a terrifying puppet to serve as the antagonist to Sheriff Woody's heroics. Despite the absolute change of his identity, Professor Atom was grateful for his second chance at being played with; as he laid on that garbage tin, wet by rain and eaten by bugs, he told Woody, he had truly expected it to be his end. And even if he could be rather noisy when trying to spy on the family's exchanges (wood limbs are not nearly as quiet as plastic nor rag), he had a worldliness that made Woody deeply admire him.
"Mom has some deep underlying issues," Professor Atom used to say, perched on Davy's bedroom window, watching the street. "Look at her. Look how she's staring down the road."
"Is she missing Pops?" asked Woody, sitting beside him. He knew Davy often missed his father; as soon as he arrived from work, Davy would run up to him and tell him everything Woody already knew, how class had gone, what games he played, what happened in the latest TV episode.
"Pff. Of course not," said Professor Atom. "Look how she keeps glancing at her watch. Look how she taps her heel. She's gonna whoop his ass as soon as he brings it home."
"Oh, that's bad news," said Woody. Davy was very sensitive to when his parents argued –which was pretty often. All toys could hear the rumble going down in the kitchen, the yelling and the cursing, and Davy would try to cover his ears and shut his eyes as hard as he could. In these moments, the need to silence the world was so strong that he couldn't even hold Woody for comfort. "But why is Mom so angry at him? What did Pops do wrong?" he asked. "Or is it like with Davy –she just likes nagging for nagging's sake?"
"Beats me. But I do have a theory," said Professor Atom. Mom was now lighting a cigarette, as the light faded and the street turned dark. "I think Mom's not happy here. I daresay she doesn't even love Pops."
"But why wouldn't she?" insisted Woody. In the TV shows, Moms and Pops usually loved each other. Yes, they often squabbled, but by the end of the episodes they usually made up. "Pops' the best, Davy says so. He's smart, he's strong, he's crafty, he's a hard worker…"
"Yes, but that doesn't mean he's a good partner," said Professor Atom. "Listen, sheriff: I remember clearly, King Arthur and Guinevere. On stage, they were as lovey-dovey as can be. But off the stage… Whoo, these two were impossible. King Arthur was a complete diva; it was as if everyone else was there to serve him. Jeez, he treated me like a damn butler," he grunted. "But with Guinevere… It was different with her. He actively tried to sabotage her, to win the affections of children. You see, Guinevere was one of the most beautiful puppets ever, even prettier than Iseult. And she knew it. When she appeared on stage, accompanied by this enchanting flute theme, all the kids had eyes only for her. And Arthur was green with envy. He wrecked Guinevere's dress, forcing her to sleep outside the box, prey to the moths. He insulted her every time the show ended, criticizing her performance, telling her how she had overacted, how she was barely fit for her melodramas. And once, in pure anger, Guinevere shattered Arthur's crown."
Woody stared at Professor Atom, holding his breath. Besides being quite knowledgeable, Professor Atom was also really good at keeping others on the edge of their seats.
"Arthur almost destroyed Guinevere after that. And I don't mean destroyed in a symbolic way. He destroyed her in the only way he could ensure he would stay the star of the show; he grabbed a thick branch, while our owners were sleeping. He went to Guinevere… And smashed her head until she was nothing but a bunch of splinters. Her body remained, but her head, her beauty… There was nothing left. In the end, our owners had to cut out her character completely. And Guinevere… Who knows where and in what state she is now."
Woody tried to imagine it, but he couldn't. The process from puppet to nothing… It was something that his mind couldn't fathom yet. "So do you think…? Do you think Mom's going to destroy Pops?"
"No, that would be illegal. You know, like in the TV? No, she won't bash his head into tiny pieces, but Mom's gonna try to do something similar –destroy him in a symbolic way. She'll make sure Davy doesn't like Pops any longer –she knows how Pops wants Davy to like him. And if Davy doesn't like her, well…"
"Woody, look what I've bought!" Davy's voice reached them from the hall.
Professor Atom and Woody went limp. Davy picked Woody up, a huge grin on his face, and showed him his purchase. "Look, it's a little guitar I saw on discount at the store today. Isn't it perfect? It's just like the one in the show –now you can play and sing us your songs –and look!" Davy strummed the little strings. "It sounds like a real guitar too!"
Davy sat on his bed, put Woody on his lap and the small guitar on Woody's lap. Davy let out a chuckle. "It's… A little bigger than what it should be, but I think it'll work just fine. So, why don't you sing us a song, sheriff?" Davy pulled the string, and Woody said I'd like to join your posse, boys, but first I'm gonna sing a little song…
Instead of a song, though, there was the sound of heeled footsteps approaching. Davy looked up, and his mother was there, looking tired, with a cigarette between her fingers.
"Well, bucko, looks like you father's not coming for dinner tonight –again," muttered Mom, dropping the ashes on Davy's room floor. "Come on now, before the stew gets cold."
"But –I wanted to tell Pops all about how I won today as baseball –and about Johnny's trip to Hawaii –and –and…!"
"He don't care about any of that, David," said Mom. Davy's excitement went out like a candle. "If he cared about anything you do, about anything I do, then he'd have the decency to come at the time he is supposed to come home, to eat the meal I prepare for him. Of course, if I'm the one who's late on the dinner roast I'm the lazy one, I'm the one who's done nothing for this family, despite—"
Davy stared at his mother. Mom sighed.
"Just… Come have dinner," she said. "And wash your hands. I'll know if you haven't."
Davy looked down at Woody. He sighed, and followed his mother out of the room.
"See? I told you," said Professor Atom to Woody from the windowsill. "Divide and conquer."
Situations like these were common, and became even more frequent as Davy grew older and Mom and Pops' patient grew thinner and thinner over the years. They began arguing in front of Davy, something they didn't dare do before. Broken dishes, flying insults and slamming doors were something to be expected nightly.
Davy, despite how excitedly he played with his toys and how jolly he seemed, was truly a very sad boy. He would sit on his carpet quietly, listening to the hurtful words his parents hurled at each other. He couldn't focus on playtime. Sometimes Davy told Woody about how the other kids would tease him for being short and chubby; he told him how he wished he was a strong leader like Woody was, unafraid of facing adversities, of putting his life on the line for others. He wished to be heroic, but there was no chance for him to try to be so. He was not as confident as he wanted to be, and the kids at school knew that and took advantage of that; he wasn't as strong nor as bold to dare confront his bullies.
"I wish I could take you to class with me, sheriff," Davy told him, before leaving him to catch the school bus. "Then you might help me be a bit braver."
Woody wasn't allowed to be taken to school with him; and so he stayed home, like Mom, and could easily listen to her talking to her friends, complaining about the boy and the hubby, as she sometimes called Pops in a scornful tone. And other times, paying no attention to Applebite and Doctor Atom's warnings, Woody climbed down the stairs, out of pure curiosity. More than once he saw nothing truly interesting, besides Mom sitting on the couch, completely still. Woody was then reminded of one occasion in which Davy went to a carnival for his birthday, and among many prizes there were some very pretty dolls that he asked Mom for –Woody wondered at the time if he had the intention for the doll to be his "damsel in distress", like pretty girls were often in the TV shows. Mom said certainly no, very angrily, but then Davy took Woody closer to his chest and muttered, just low enough so Mom couldn't hear him:
"Mom looks just like one of those dolls though, doesn't she? All pretty-looking but with nothing to say… With those glassy, empty eyes…"
Woody hadn't understand what he had meant then until he had seen Mom alone, in the kitchen, meaning to finish frosting a cake but having dozed off, lost in her thoughts. Sometimes she just stayed like that for almost an hour, petrified, barely blinking. Woody recognized this same strange sort of trance that Davy sometimes slipped into. He wondered why they did that: he knew he simply had to keep still sometimes, like the rest of the toys, when there was a person nearby. But why, exactly, Mom and Davy had to do that was still a mystery.
Once, Woody remembered quite clearly, Davy had been playing on the living room. It was a rainy Saturday, and as such everyone was inside. Mom was fixing supper and Pops was watching TV, a show Davy didn't care for. So Davy had been playing with Woody, sitting him on Applebite, humming the Lone Ranger theme as they explored the cupboard, the coffee table, the carpet, the mantel, whistling as Applebite galloped next to the ornamental porcelain birds that hang from the wall. Both Mom and Pops glanced at Davy from time to time, but neither wanted to be the one to start the scolding. So they let Davy go on playing.
"Look, Pops! Look what Woody can do!" cried Davy. He had found a piece of cord he had practiced using as a lasso for Woody to brand. Davy tied the knot, put the end of the cord on Woody's hand, and began swaying it around, over his head. "Look! It's like a real lasso! Johnny taught me how to do it…"
"That's nice, bucko," said Pops, glancing at him briefly, then looking back at the TV.
"No –Pops –you missed it!" said Davy, as the knot had slipped. "I'll try again –but please, look! Look –now, Woody's got it, and he's gonna catch something, just you see…!"
"Don't shout, Davy," said Mom, whisking something blueish in a bowl, making an annoying little noise.
"Leave the kid alone, Doreen," groaned Pops. "Let him play…"
"Look, Pops, look!" Davy threw the lasso and, by a stroke of luck –Woody liked to think it was due to their shared lassoing skills –the cord wrapped around the glass figurine of a swan with wide open wings, that rested on a shelf next to the old family photos. "I've caught something…!"
"Good, well done," said Pops in a monotone.
"Pops, you're not looking…!" insisted Davy, and he pulled the cord –and the swan came down its doily –and made an awful, high-pitched crashing sound as it shattered on the floor. Davy gasped and jumped back. Pops immediately raised his head to see what had happened, and Mom brought a hand to her mouth. Davy looked at both of them, still, in shock. He looked down at the tiny sparkling shards of the glass swan. Its long neck was still hanging from the lasso in Woody's plastic hand.
"David, come here," said Pops. "Now."
"I… I'm sorry –I didn't mean to—"
"I'm not gonna repeat myself, David," said Pops, now in a threatening tone. For some reason, he began unbuckling his belt.
Davy gulped. He left Woody on the couch and walked to his father, avoiding stepping on the broken glass. Mom hurried and brought a broom and a dustpan to clean the mess. While she swept the tiny pieces, making a soft clinking sound as they hit one another, Woody could barely see where Davy was going. From the sound of their footsteps, and by the sound of the closing door, Woody assumed they were in Pops' studio. And then, as Mom threw the remains of the glass swan into the bin, there was a loud noise –like something soft being slapped hard –and a quiet sob. It repeated over and over, and Woody became nervous. After a while the footsteps were heard again, and Davy picked Woody up from the couch pillows. His eyes were red, his nose wet with tears. Woody's heart broke at the sight of his boy in such a state of despair.
"You better think about what you did, David," said Pops, behind their back.
With his head hanging, Davy went to his room and closed the door. Outside the rain was still pounding against the windows. He pulled the sheets of his bed aside and crawled in, and covered his head, and cried, hugging Woody tightly. Woody wished he could hug him back, find some way to comfort him better, to let him know everything would be alright. But in the end, he knew well, the best thing was to let him cry it out.
"I'm… I'm such a knucklehead," sobbed Davy. "Pops was right, I shouldn't be playing around with fragile things… Mom will never forgive me. I'll be grounded til Christmastime, and who knows if not for even longer…"
Davy looked down at Woody's smiling, unwavering face. The boy smiled, straightening his toy's cowboy hat.
"Y'know? We could make it on our own. We don't need no one else. I could pick some cheese, some bread, some wieners… A few Rocky Roads… Pack my lunchbox and never look back. We could go west. Whaddya say, partner?" he asked Woody, pulling his string, and he said Yee-haw! Giddy-up partner! We've got to get this wagon train a-movin'!
Davy let out a small chuckle, wiping his eyes.
"It's still raining, though… Bad weather for journeying through the desert," said Davy. "But tomorrow's when the sun'll come out, surely. Tomorrow, then. Is that alright by you, sheriff?"
Woody, as usual, didn't answer. It was alright. Davy was smiling now.
"Tomorrow'll be a new day."
And tomorrow came indeed, and the next day, and the next.
One golden autumn day Mom left home, for some reason Davy wasn't made aware of. When he came back from school, she simply wasn't there, not in the living room, nor in the kitchen, nor in the bathroom, nor in her bedroom. Next day she wasn't there either, and to confirm what was already obvious, Pops quickly told Davy that Mom wouldn't come back. Professor Atom had his theories, but Woody only knew that Davy, while being annoyed that he had to do even more chores than before and had to learn to cook for him and his father, didn't miss his mother very much.
"Do you think she had another family?" Davy asked Woody, as he laid awake in his bed. "I heard something like that in the news. Some woman had two families: two husbands and two sons. Imagine having to clean and cook for so many people," he chuckled. "It's weird, though. Now I kind of realize how much she did. You know, Pops always called her lazy. And yeah, she'd be stuck yammering on the phone all afternoon, but… I keep my room clean, because I like it that way, but…" And he lowered his voice. "Pops isn't very much like that. He kind of expects someone else to take care of his mess."
Davy sighed. He took Woody's hat off, left it neatly on his nightstand and turned off his bedside lamp.
"When I marry, Woody, I'm not gonna leave all the messes to my wife," he said, quietly, in the dark. "I'll be a good husband. Heck –I'm learning to cook already. Good thing Mom left her recipes on the cupboard."
Woody, wrapped by Davy's arms, could feel the boy's racing heartbeat.
"I hope I can be a good husband," said Davy. "Otherwise… I guess my wife'll get someone else to be a wife to. Don't you think?"
Davy looked down at Woody, and let out a little laugh. "Of course, you don't have to worry about it. You're a sheriff –a cowboy –a lone ranger. Nothing ties you down. You don't have to worry about things like wives and cooking and cleaning and taking care of someone… Dang," said Davy, taking a deep breath. "Wish I was as free as you are."
Woody didn't feel as free as the boy believed he was. It was undeniable that, when Davy felt sad, he couldn't help but feel sad, too, and a strong desire to make it all better. Sometimes, even though Davy often insisted that Pops was the best, Woody thought that if Pops was really as good as his son claimed then he wouldn't make his boy cry; Woody was certain that, if he was a father, if he was Davy's Pops, he'd always keep him happy, and tell him what a great, creative and funny kid he was.
Since Mom was no longer around, evenings became awfully quiet. When Pops came home from work, he didn't need to tell Davy to be quiet; Davy knew what would happen to him if he raised a ruckus. So he'd take Woody to the living room, sit beside his father and watch TV. Then they'd had dinner, and sometimes, if Pops was in a good mood, he'd complain about something from the office that Davy usually didn't understand very well, and then Davy would carefully choose which daily occurrence he'd share. Woody didn't miss the arguing at all, and yet something was clearly missing in the Oakley house. Davy complained much less, even to him; and since a good portion of his conversation was venting and voicing his fears and feelings of anger, Davy became a much quieter boy. Pops had caught Davy talking to Woody more than once, and he had told Davy that he seemed positively bonkers, talking to his ragdoll, and that he was too big to keep doing stuff like that. And so, as the days went by, Davy talked to Woody less and less, until he only talked to him –or more precisely, talked for him –during playtime, which was also becoming more and more infrequent.
Playtime altogether soon was a thing of the past, as Davy finished elementary school and was close to beginning high school. It surprised Woody, how long it had been since he had first arrived to Davy Oakley's life –and how quick time had gone by, to the point the short freckled boy that had been so happy to have him was now a studious, serious young man. Since Davy had stopped playing with him and with his other toys, everything had subtly changed: Davy had gotten a part-time job, and spent less time in his house; he got himself a girlfriend, which was also something that kept him away from home; and then the girlfriend left him, so he tried to keep himself as busy as possible as to not think of her and to not feel how his heart was aching. The cardboard saloon and the evil lair, with all the hand-made balsa wood furniture, were thrown in the garbage. Professor Atom was left in the bottom of a drawer, along with a bunch of children's storybooks and Davy's paintbrushes and sketchpads. Applebite remained untouched, gathering dust, in a dark corner of the bedroom, almost hidden behind the bookshelves. Woody was the only toy that was still more or less present, if only because Davy had moved the cowboy from sleeping in his bed to sitting on his nightstand –and, in the few opportunities Davy had friends over, a shelf that kept Woody out of sight.
Since Davy was no longer in the house so often –and his father had become almost a ghost –Woody and Applebite spent some time talking, wondering what Davy was doing in high school, and playing poker –Woody had found a set of cards in Davy's backpack, and for some reason Applebite knew how to play. Whole afternoons passed like this, with Applebite often talking about what he thought about what little he could manage to see through the bedroom window. Woody, being a bit more mobile, began venturing more often into the living room, and a few times even dared to watch TV without Davy. There were new shows –a lot of them –that Woody really enjoyed, like Zorro, Gunsmoke, Rawhide, Lassie, Mister Ed, The Phil Silvers Show and I Love Lucy –and afterwards he'd go back to Davy's room and tell Applebite all about the latest episode, running gag, cliffhanger and plot twist. Once he had opened Professor Atom's drawer, and asked him if he'd like to go down and watch TV with him; but Professor Atom, as a respected thespian, thought that television was a low form of entertainment and insisted that, for some unexplained reason, he preferred to stay locked up in that dark drawer. Woody thought at first that Professor Atom was just bitter because Davy had put him in there, but Applebite told him that he thought it was because Professor Atom simply didn't find a reason to stay out of it, since the result was the same. Davy simply was not going to play with them.
Woody felt bad for Professor Atom, of course, and for Applebite and especially for all the papier-mache critters that were also dumped some months ago. But no matter how it embarrassed him to admit it, there was a sense of pride on being still kept on Davy's nightstand, and even on his shelf. He felt like Davy wasn't ashamed of having Woody, and that even if he was probably not going to play with him –and Woody did really want to have one more opportunity to be played with, as unlikely as that seemed –just by keeping him around, available, Davy might just pick him up, one fine day, and be Woody's favorite deputy one last time.
But that was a wish Woody held deep inside, and while nothing could stop him from hoping, even against his better judgement, the truth was evident. Davy was no longer a child.
David Oakley, a teenager now, spent his last few days of high school cleaning his room and choosing what he'd keep and what he'd throw, as he entered adulthood and was expected to behave as such, and do away with any useless things. He'd gotten brand new sheets, painted his bedroom walls white, got a few different pieces of furniture that he considered more proper to a fella his age. Davy was getting rid of the books he no longer wanted, when he happened to open that forgotten drawer where Professor Atom had been for these last few years. And when Davy saw him, making a little grimace at noting how damaged the old puppet was, he brought a bigger cardboard box and put Professor Atom and Applebite in it. He threw some storybooks and a couple children's encyclopedias in there, too, but kept the Frontiersman comic strips, and saved them in another drawer, where he would surely forget about them for the next few years.
Davy left the room for a moment. As soon as he disappeared behind the doorframe, Woody jumped to the bed and peeked into the cardboard box. Among all the old junk and dusty books, Professor Atom and Applebite sat and looked up at the cowboy.
"What's happening?" asked Woody. "Why did Davy put you here?"
"We're leaving Davy, sheriff," said Applebite. "And it seems like this is when we say goodbye."
"But… Why? Why are we…?"
"No, Woody, we," said Professor Atom. "Applebite and I. You're a lucky one. It seems Davy's got a soft spot for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Children grow up… They grow less interested in their toys."
"I know –Davy doesn't play with us anymore," said Woody. "But that doesn't mean you should be taken away!"
"That's just the way it is," said Applebite, giving a strange horse version of a shrug. "This moment was to come, sooner or later. We've come to terms with it some time ago."
"That doesn't mean you'll never be played with again," said Professor Atom. "Nor Applebite. You two are still in mint condition; you'll stay with Davy, Woody, and Applebite will probably be sent to a charity shop or to a garage sale."
"A garage sale?"
"I'll be given a new life, with a new child!" said Applebite, excitedly. "And I'm gonna be played with again. I just can't wait."
"As for me…"
Woody gazed at Professor Atom's ancient eyes. Just then did he notice how long it had been since Davy had given him a fresh coat of paint, or wrap him in new tin foil. Professor Atom now looked more like a pile of driftwood than like a puppet. Woody realized what this meant.
"No. Please, Professor Atom…"
"That's just the way it is," sighed the old puppet. "I was living on borrowed time, ever since Davy found me and took me in. But now… I've been a piece of trash for several years. It's time I leave and be gone forever."
"You're just being dramatic," said Applebite, but Woody knew when Professor Atom delved into theatrics, and when he was deadly serious. "You're just going to be alright, probably in a new puppet company…"
"Look at me, you silly horse!" cried Professor Atom. "Look at me and tell me if you could see me, in this state, on a stage."
Applebite lowered his head. "Well… Perhaps with some paint and a new arm…"
"Cheaper to be thrown away than to be rebuilt," muttered Professor Atom. "Cheaper to be replaced."
Woody gulped. Would Davy ever replace him? Would he ever be so damaged that it would be easier to be thrown in the garbage?
"But don't worry, sheriff," Applebite hurried to say. "That's not gonna happen to you…"
"At least not soon," added Professor Atom. "So enjoy every playtime like it's your last. You never know when it could be, after all…"
Applebite neighed in frustration. "Why you gotta be so intense? Woody's the chosen one. We should be happy for him. You should be glad Davy's gonna keep you!"
"I don't feel glad," said Woody miserly.
"Imagine, you'll get to play with Davy's kids…" said Applebite. "And Davy's grandkids… And Davy's grandkids' kids… And Davy's grandkids' grandkids…"
Footsteps. Applebite gasped.
"So long, sheriff! The best of luck to ya," said Applebite, disappearing into the box. Professor Atom reached out his crumbling carved hand for Woody to shake.
"Goodbye, Woody Pride," said Professor Atom. "It was an honor to play your villain."
Woody nodded. He had to be glad. He had to be strong. "It was an honor to play your hero, sir," he said. "Thank you for everything."
Professor Atom gifted him a small smile, and went inside the box. Davy came into the room and without giving it a second look he closed the cardboard box and taped it shut. For a moment, his gaze lingered on Woody. He picked him up, turned him around, as if it was the first time he saw him. Davy pulled his string, and Woody said Reach for the sky!
Davy smiled. "Yeah, pictured you'd say something of the sort."
It turned out that Davy had been planning to turn his father's old office into his very own studio. There, on a shelf just above his desk, Woody was carefully seated with his hands on his knees, his polished sheriff badge and his hat firmly set on his plastic head. From that vantage point, Woody could see clearly how Davy spent every afternoon working of house designs. Friends came over to see his sketches, said he was going to be a great architect, and Davy smiled, and Woody felt happy for him. Every few weeks Davy would dust his studio, vacuum the carpet, clean the small window, and in that moment he'd pick Woody up for a moment and clean the spot where he was seated, he'd clean the dust on his hat and nose and hands, made sure the badge was properly pinned and he would sit Woody again on the shelf, and he'd go back to ignoring him until the next time. As much as Woody wished for it, for one more chance, that brief moment of contact awoke nothing in Davy. Sometimes he would let out a little smile, possibly remembering how they used to play. But most of the time he'd be with his eyes on his work, on the girlfriend that occasionally entered the studio, on letters and homework and essays and books, on the things that adults had to be focused on. Years passed like this, having a brief moment of Davy's acknowledgement, then going back to the shelf, left to watch his boy as he grew older and taller and more tired.
But one day, one marvelous, special day, Davy's girl –whose name was Lillian, if Woody's memory was to be trusted –walked into the studio with an unmistakable bump on her belly. At the sight of it Woody felt his hopes rise in a way they haven't been for what felt like centuries. TV had taught him that if a lady had a bump in the belly, that meant a baby was on the way. A baby meant someone who would have to be distracted, played with, and comforted. Woody thought of what Applebite had told him before leaving, about him having the chance to stay and get to play with Davy's children…
"How're my two darlings?" Davy asked Lillian, kissing her cheek and placing a hand on her belly. Lillian smiled.
"Kicking already. I tell you, it's a rowdy one," she said, resting her head on his shoulder, trying to see what he was working on. "How's that coming?"
"A bit late… But hey, better late than never, I guess," sighed Davy, scratching his head.
"It's gonna turn out great, dear," she said, and kissed his temple. "Don't worry so much."
Lillian looked up and around the studio. Davy glanced at her. "What're you thinking?"
"This could be the baby's room, right? When they grow up enough to be in a room of their own…"
"Yeah, it's a bit small…" said Davy, embracing her girl –her wife, more precisely, as Woody could see a wedding ring on Lillian's hand. "But if it's a small child…"
"They're not staying in our room forever," smiled Lillian. "Just promise me that."
Davy laughed. "Yeah, just the first few years…"
"Years?"
Davy and Lillian left the studio. It was nice to see them so happy together –compared to Pops and Mom, Davy and Lillian seemed like the most loving relationship there could be –and Woody was of course very happy to learn –albeit probably a bit late –that Davy had married, but nothing could really distract him from the fact that a baby was coming, and that his days on the shelf would soon be over, and he would be played again, loved again, and so he began to imagine how this new child would be, whether they'd be a boy or a girl, what games they'd like to play, whether he'd stay a cowboy or he'd go through a transformation like Professor Atom did –this was the only thing that rather unnerved him –and this pondering and dreaming became his new favorite distraction.
Every time from then on that Lillian came to the studio, either to call him to dinner or to just have a chat with him, the bump got bigger, to the point she had to walk with a hand on it just to keep balance. Woody wondered when the baby would finally come, and so he listened more closely –he had become used to keeping an open ear, either to listen to the TV or to the radio as a way to amuse himself –and finally –finally –he heard gasping and groaning, and a rush through the stairs, and the car starting, and soon they left the house.
They returned home some time later with a swaddled bunch of soft blankets in Lillian's arms, what Woody guessed was the baby. They weren't allowed in the studio yet, so all Woody knew about them was that their name was Jenny and that she loved to scream and cry to the top of her little but powerful lungs. The fifth or sixth night that the baby was already home, and by the joined efforts of Davy and Lillian their daughter had been put to sleep, Woody decided he needed to see the baby for himself. Of course, it was dark in the studio and while Davy was still very neat that didn't make climbing down the shelf any easier. There were many papers, books, pencils, all carefully aligned and prepared –but so many things could go wrong, he worried. Even a little tumble may wake Jenny up. Woody took a deep breath and, grabbing onto the edge of the shelf, dangled his legs down until he could be sure he was stepping on something sturdy. Then, it was a matter of grabbing the next shelf down from him, descending slowly, and then finding something else to step on that wouldn't fall and make enough noise to wake either the parents or the baby. It took him a while, but luckily he managed to get onto the desk, and from there to the chair, and from there to the floor.
He went to the living room, which under the dim moonlight seemed so different from when Davy was a little boy. The lamps had a strange shape, there were new paintings framed on the walls, and the TV was new and slightly bigger; there were no photos of little Davy on the mantel, as they were replaced by smiling pictures of older Davy and Lillian together, including one where she was dressed all in white and he was dressed all in black. The radio was also new, and very different than before. There was a record player now, too, also much more modern than the one Pops had that Davy wasn't allowed to touch as a boy. And the magazines on the coffee table showed people dressed in extravagant fashions –colorful stripes, circles, flowers, plaid and checkers. Woody wondered how many years he had been stuck in that studio.
Woody climbed the stairs as quietly as he could. He reached the first floor, and heard the snoring from the bedroom, and stepped into the dark bedroom, which was still and silent beyond the snoring. There was another sound, though. A soft low music, coming from a device suspended over the baby's crib. The cowboy looked up. From the device dangled yellow felt stars and blue and white felt clouds, which turned around in a slow-moving circle. It was a hypnotic, gentle sight.
Woody reminded himself what he was doing there. He approached the baby's crib and peeked at her through the bars.
Jenny was a big-headed pale creature, chubby and rosy, her small hands closed in little tight fists. Woody gazed at her, holding his breath, wondering what she was like, who she would become. So far she seemed like all the babies he had seen on TV or through the window –small, slightly smelly, a bit weird looking compared to adults or children. Her round, almost bald head appeared to be so heavy, and she was so plump that she was surely quite heavy, and yet Jenny also appeared terribly fragile. Davy, and probably Lillian too, had looked like this someday. Woody certainly didn't; a baby was a curiosity to him, as were many things that often seemed like they belonged to the world of the comic strips and television shows, things that just didn't happen to him or to any other toy. Woody stretched his hand to touch little Jenny's hand. She let out a little whimper but continued sleeping, to Woody's great relief. Her fingers wrapped around his plastic hand, squeezing tightly. It reminded him so much of when Davy held him, so long ago, for comfort. He smiled. That little baby would soon be his world.
Just then he noticed a small fluffy thing set by the other side of the crib. Woody frowned. The fluffy thing produced a pair of black eyes, which stared at him in horror. Woody gasped –as the fluff ball swiftly climbed over Jenny and frowned at him.
"What on Earth you think you're doing, cowboy?" hissed the fluffy thing, that just then Woody could see was a pink puppy plush toy, with black beady eyes and a little red felt tongue just peeking out of her furry mouth. "This is my turf. Why don't you go back to your ranch?"
"What?" said Woody. He thought the baby wouldn't have a toy yet –if she did, he would be that toy. "I'm just –I wanted to see Jenny."
"You've seen her, alright," said the pink puppy, climbing down from Jenny's chest and putting her paws on the baby's hand. "Now leave! This is my baby…"
"She's not yours!" cried Woody in a whisper. "At least, not only yours!"
"I'm here in her crib! You're probably some old forgotten thing that saw an opportunity, and tried to take it from a hard-working toy like me. You surely heard the cries and thought you had a chance. But look at you! You'd poke a baby's eye out with that nose."
"Hey!"
"Mom and Dad made their choice," said the pink puppy. "This is my baby, and my place is with her. Your place is wherever you came from –so go back there."
Woody knew that the puppy was right, and slipped his hand out of Jenny's grip. But the plush toy had been incredibly rude, and as an older toy –Davy's favorite, no less! –he thought he deserved some respect.
"Listen here, you…" Woody interrupted himself. "What's…? What's your name?"
"What do you care?" said the pink puppy. "I don't have one. I don't need one. Babies don't speak, you dunce!"
"Who do you think you are?" said Woody, growing angrier. "Listen here, pup, I'm not arguing that you are Jenny's current toy. But what do you have against me also being played with?"
"What do you think? You think you can replace me –yeah, I can see it in your greedy bug eyes," said the puppy. "You want the baby all for yourself. You want to take the playtime away from me… But I have it now!" And then the puppy grinned –or seemed to grin –it wasn't easy to know under all that pink fur. "If you even think of staying here in the crib, I'll wake Jenny up. She'll start crying and Mom will see you're here! And she'll take you away –she'll throw you into the dumpster!"
"Shh!" cried Woody. "Alright –alright, there's no need to wake anyone up. If you're Jenny's current favorite, then there's nothing I can do about it," Even though he really wanted to take that unbearable plush toy's place. "I'll leave, okay?"
And so Woody walked away from the crib.
"Yeah, you leave, you plastic-head," muttered the puppy. "You'll get your chance, and who knows if I… Let others have fun too."
Woody turned to the puppy. "What'd you say?"
"Nothing. Go on, leave."
"No, you said—"
"Plastic-head," smiled the puppy. "Why? Does that push your buttons?"
"No –well, a bit –I mean, you said 'and who knows if I…'"
"… Yeah. So?"
"So what did you mean by that?" asked Woody. "You're Jenny's toy, you'll always have a chance to be played with."
The puppy huffed. "You don't know anything, plastic-head. I'm a baby's toy –I'm small and soft and just perfect for her age. Afterwards? Who knows if she'll still keep me. Surely she'll want dolls, with those brushes and dresses and shoes, and other plastic-heads like you…"
Woody thought it over. It was true that Davy had had a few plush toys that he had met not long after being first brought to his boy's life; but those toys were eventually forgotten and also disposed of. Perhaps she was right. He did want to be part of Jenny's playtime –desperately –but if Davy hadn't given him to his daughter, then it meant it was not yet the right moment. No matter how much he wanted it to be, Davy –now renamed Dad, apparently –was the one who decided who Jenny would play with.
The pink puppy didn't look as angry anymore –just frustrated.
"So let me be happy for a while. Okay?" she said, snuggling against Jenny. "I don't have much time with her, you know. By the time she's four… Or even earlier, maybe."
"Alright. Just remember… She's not yours. Not yours alone," said Woody sternly, just to make sure she understood, still trying to keep whatever authority he remembered once having. "Who knows –maybe one of these days Davy –I mean, Dad –will drop me into that crib."
"Yeah –keep dreaming, cowboy," barked the pink puppy, but her voice sounded unsure. "Let us sleep. Go back to the shelf."
That last phrase felt so deeply hurtful that Woody briefly considered entering the crib and pull the pink pup's furry paws off Jenny. But he had no choice but to obey, go down the stairs, into the studio, and back to the shelf, where he had to sit and wait, and wait, until his playtime came.