Chapter 2
AN: If any of you fine readers are from Nebraska, know that I don't have a vendetta against your state. I am sure that there are many great things about living in and being Nebraskan (occasionally the football's good). It's just sounds far away from where TS appears to be set.
Nebraska. Bo was headed to Nebraska. It was pointless to count the miles, she had already been far away from him for a long time. Woody looked around Bonnie's room; in many ways, it was just like Andy's room. Old memories filled the space around him like an old movie. Five years, it had been five years since Bo had been sold. Andy was twelve, Molly was eight. That was a bad time for all of the toys. Bo Peep, sheep, and lamp had long since been moved into Molly's room. Mrs. Davis decided that Andy was too old for nursery rhymes, much to Molly's delight. The Davis children were growing up. Woody knew that growing up meant that they would not be played with as much or even ever again. Andy was not his first kid, but he hoped that he'd be kept around for a while yet. Other toys, however, began to panic. Either they had tragic histories, like Jessie, or had never been handed down.
Mrs. Davis didn't help matters either. For all of her good intentions, she was almost as bad as Sid. She was the source of so much fear and sorrow. Yard Sales became the stuff of their nightmares. If toys swore, Yard Sale would be near the top of the list of obscene phrases. Like Sid, you never knew when she'd strike or who she'd take. She seemed to think that toys or other possessions should be shed like snake skins. Then she taught her children to make such sacrifices on their own. Christmas and spring were the worst times. The phrase, "they could make some other kid very happy," rang in Woody's head. They didn't want "some other kid." Of course, no one could say that. There were rules. Humans couldn't know that their toys had souls and lived while they were away. It wasn't Mrs. Davis' or any other human's fault that they were oblivious. Still, a small, quiet part of Woody would always hate Mrs. Davis.
In this atmosphere, Woody had to keep order. As bad as things were, a panicking group of toys could easily go down terrible roads. Though he'd never seen it, Woody heard from older toys in his younger days that some toys became destructive. Some tried to force their kid to stay young. It was the little things. He heard that one young lady "somehow" bleached all of her new mini skirts. One young man perpetually "lost" the keys to his car. These were symbols and symptoms, nothing that would actually stop the kid from growing up. So he came up with plans and schemes to stretch the time they had with Andy. At first it got them some much needed playing time. Later it was more for morale, giving his friends something to do and to focus on, while he made acquaintances and quiet arrangements for their upcoming time in the attic.
Jessie held onto the hope that Molly would take an interest in all of them. She talked about it almost incessantly. A few of Andy's toys quietly hoped with her. Jessie did everything she could to make the little girl notice her without success. Even though she was little and had childhood to spare, Woody saw that Molly didn't have the imagination that Andy had. Molly would be one of those unfortunate children that rushed into adulthood. She had toys; that's true, Barbie was one of her favorites, but she was never really attached to them. Mr. Potatohead never questioned his luck when Mrs. Potatohead, Molly's Christmas gift, ended up in Andy's toy box. Woody heard the murmurs of jealousy come from Molly's room more than once. Some toys would have given their stuffing to be played with by Andy even for one day. Woody said nothing to Jessie or to the other toys about the prospect of becoming Molly's toys. Hope was hope even if it went nowhere, and it was in short supply. He needed all the help he could get. The movie of his memories focused on that day.
Woody opened the wagon's lid and looked out into Andy's room. It was a glorious night, warm and scented with leaves and flowers, though no moon shone. He looked to his friends, sleeping and peaceful and green in the soft glow of Buzz's glow-in-the-dark plastic. Jessie wrapped herself up in Buzz who guarded her in his sleep. Woody smiled a little smile and wondered when his friends would finally see what everyone else saw. Slinky's coils rattled a little as he chased something in his dreams. Woody would have to be careful, Sarg was a light sleeper. Woody silently slid over the side and onto the floor and slowly lowered the lid. He resisted the urge to climb up on Andy's bed, to watch the not-so-little boy. No, those days were gone. Woody looked at the clock, it was after one. Mrs. Davis should be asleep, so Woody could move about the house if he wanted to. It had been a while since he'd been out of the box. Woody looked in the direction of Molly's room. It was a long shot, but maybe someone else would be awake. Woody crept to the door and squeezed through.
It was even darker in the hall. Molly used to have a night light out here. It took a minute to adjust as he made his way over to Molly's door. His boot grazed something. He stopped, he knew that sound. Cardboard, his heart stopped. Woody's hand shook as he reached out. Yep, it was a cardboard box, but something was off. He ran his hands over the surface and found a corner hanging out in the air. The box was tipped at an angle. How? He'd seen enough boxes to know that they usually fall over. He knelt down and found an eraser and a ruler at one end and one of the box's flaps angled down at the other. The whole thing was wedged so that what ever was in there could use the flap as a ramp. Woody moved over to the opening, nothing. Nothing was in the box. He felt sigh of relief burst out of him.
This still wasn't good. Boxes meant yard sales or spring cleaning. Woody didn't want to wake his friends to tell them this bad news. He'd wait until morning, but that wouldn't leave him much time to prepare them for another loss. Why was the box wedged over like this? Something in him made him move quickly and silently to Molly's door. It was open, not wide, but definitely not a crack. He went in. He could hear Molly sleep, murmuring. The girl could sleep through World War III. The pink walls seemed to give off a light of their own. Quiet, Woody looked around and saw only sleeping dolls. He heard a soft baa, and tried to place it. His eyes darted to all of the usual places. Nightstand? No. Shelf? No. Dresser? No. Where were those sheep? A shadow moved. Woody whirled around. The closet? He walked over to the closet door. No, it was shut tight. His face twisted with confusion as he turned back around. He looked for Bo. It was too late for the sheep to be running around. Even when she purposely lost them so they could go away, flirt, make out, and generally be alone together, the sheep were rounded up well before midnight.
"Psst. Bo. Bo, where are you?" He whispered into the night. Sleeping silence and pink darkness surrounded him. Looking high and low, Woody started to back out of Molly's room.
"Bo, the sheep are loose. There's a box outside. It looks like another yard sale. You don't want them to be sold by mistake." He continued to whisper. Still nothing. Not even the sheep were making noise anymore. Woody didn't know where else to look. Maybe they did wander out of Molly's room. He made it back out into the hall.
Woody looked toward the box and saw the sheep and their shepherdess. The lamp's heavy base sat on the backs of the three sheep. Bo used her crook to hook the top of the lamp to lift, direct and steady it.
"Careful, darlings." She whispered to them, "left a little, good." The sheep backed onto the box flap. Woody could barely believe what he saw.
"Bo?" he whispered. She stopped.
"Stay still." Bo whispered the sheep as she put down her end of the lamp. She turned to face him.
"Bo, what are you doing?" Woody whispered as he came up to her. Her face was both tired and sad.
"Woody, you shouldn't be here." She sighed. Woody reached to pull at the lamp, Bo stopped him.
"You do know that there's going to a yard sale tomorrow, don't you?" He asked.
"Yes, Woody, I know what's going to happen." She said. His head was filled with confusion and questions swirling around each trying to be the first thing out of his mouth. She must have seen it on his face, she always read him like a book.
"Woody, it's time for me to move on. Andy doesn't play with me anymore and Molly put me in the closet last week. It's only a matter of time before I'm put in this box." She explained gently.
"We're Andy's toys. Look, I know, it's scary to watch them grow up. I understand. I almost went to Japan, remember?" Woody said.
"Yes, I remember."
"Just because they're growing up doesn't mean that they don't need you. Waiting is the worst part of this job, but this is our job. We'll be there when they need us, even if that means waiting years in the attic for Andy or Molly to have kids of their own." Woody said.
"Yes, but I know that there are others out there who need me more and need me today. I have thought about this." She replied. Woody's mind spun some more.
"You're not just going to drop in and out of kid's lives like Mary Poppins, are you?" Woody asked.
"Woody."
"Ok, ok, ok, what about our friends? Who else will tease Jessie about Buzz? Can you really leave all of us behind?" Woody continued. Bo sighed.
"This is hard, but it's better this way. I've lost so many nights sleep just wondering when the other shoe will drop." Bo said. Woody closed his eyes.
"Please. If you won't stay for Andy, or Molly, or for our friends, stay with me. Stay for me." He pleaded. Bo came up and held him. Woody pulled her close. Then Bo turned her head and kissed Woody's cheek.
"Goodbye." She whispered. Bo pulled away and turned back to the lamp. Woody deflated. He knew that he watched her pick up her crook and walk the sheep and lamp into the box, but it didn't feel like he was really there. This was some awful nightmare. He would wake up any second now. Any second. The box tipped upright as Bo passed the eraser and ruler wedge. The hallway fell silent. Even though they were only separated by a quarter-inch thick piece of cardboard it felt like oceans.
He didn't know how he made it back to Andy's room. This was bad. This wasn't happening. Woody took a deep breath. He had to think. If the rest of his friends learned that Bo chose to leave, there would be panic. Some might just follow her out the door. It was already so hard to hold everyone together. He couldn't go and wake up Buzz and tell him about this, no matter how much he wanted to. Buzz would tell Jessie, and though she'd try, Jessie really couldn't keep a secret from anyone but herself.
Dawn rose. After hours of thinking and working, Woody had no plan. There was nothing he could do. He couldn't talk Bo out of this. He couldn't "rescue" her. All he had was hope and luck. Woody pinned his hopes on two possibilities. Just because Bo put herself in the box didn't mean that someone couldn't take her right back out. He already ruled out both Mrs. Davis and Molly. Neither of them cared enough to do that. That left Andy. Andy could take the porcelain lamp out. True, the boy was twelve, almost thirteen, so it wasn't a sure thing. Even if Andy let Bo go out to the yard sale, it didn't mean that she'd find a buyer. Sometimes toys or other possessions came back at the end of the day. It would be a long day; it was only six in the morning. Already tired, he had to wake his friends, get them prepared for the sale. Woody looked up at Andy. Thankfully the boy would be asleep for a few more hours.