I was bought from a small store in a small town in Northern Vermont. I was your average souvenir-y knicknack: a small stuffed moose. On my stomach was a green heart, bearing the letters VT. There were various sizes of moose like me. I was the smallest. The larger ones typically went first, so I was pleasantly surprised when I was taken from my spot on the shelf.

    A small girl picked me up and showed me to her mother. I smiled, wanting so badly to be taken home with this family. The mother was on her phone, chatting away with a friend, maybe. She doesn’t pay much attention to her daughter, just glancing at her and giving her a fake smile that doesn’t travel to her eyes. It makes me sad.

    The girl looks down, frowning. I half expect her to burst into tears, or start throwing a fit. Instead, she walks back to the shelf and sets me down. Now I feel like bursting into tears.

    I watch the girl, who is watching her mother. The girl sits on a bench, studying her mother. They have many similar features: the same long, brown, curly hair; the same shade of blue eyes; the same hooked nose. I wonder what the father looks like.

    After a few minutes, the girl gets bored and stands up. Her mother is still talking on the phone, paying no attention at all. The girl looks around the store, looks back at her mom, and then slips out the front door. Her mom is leaning over a jewelry case, marveling over the necklaces and rings and bracelets that she’ll never own. Her daughter is narrowly crossing the busy street.

I push myself forwards, using every ounce of stuffing inside me. I’m able to push myself off the shelf and fall onto a stack of bells. The mom jumps, and looks around, finally realizing that her daughter is gone.

“Rosie?” she calls, looking at me. I’ve managed to land pointing in the direction of the door. Rosie had already made it across the road and entered a different store. The mom threw her phone into her purse and rushed across the street. I can’t help but wonder if I’ll see either of them again. That thought makes me incredibly doleful.
    I look around, realizing that, by now, I’m pretty far down in the pile of bells. I wonder how long it’ll take for Quinn to find me. Quinn was the owner of my store. He was a pretty cool guy, and always took care of us. I wonder if he’ll know that I’m gone.

    I have no way of telling time, so I’ll never know how long I sat in the pile of bells. But, eventually, after I started to doze off a little, I felt myself being picked up into the air. It wasn’t Quinn. It was Rosie’s mom.

    “Thanks, buddy. You saved my little Rosie. I guess there’s only one way to repay you,” she smiled, bringing me towards the counter.

    Is this really happening? Am I dreaming? I blinked my eyes a few times, making sure that this was real life. Rosie’s mom dropped me on the counter, and that sealed the deal. This was definitely real life. Back pain like that doesn’t happen in my dreams.

    I sat on the counter while she paid for me. It was kind of awkward, to be completely honest. But, the awkwardness subsided when Rosie picked me up off the counter and engulfed me in a hug. Is this what love feels like?

    Rosie refused to put me down, but I was completely okay with it. I finally had a home. I would never have to sit on the shelf again, waiting for this day.

    I never left Rosie’s sight for the first month I was with her. In the car, during bedtime, at preschool, playtime, I even had my own spot at the dinner table. That month was the best month of my life. But, after that month, everything changed.

    Christmas was yesterday. Rosie got new toys, and I gradually got replaced. I wound up right back where I started: on the shelf, but with different scenery. Instead of the company of my fellow moose friends, I had the company of other forgotten toys.

    Weeks passed. The Christmas tree came down, the New Year’s Party came and went, the snow started to melt, and soon enough, Rosie was out of school. I thought this might’ve been a good thing: more time to play with me and the other forgotten toys. Unfortunately, I was wrong. Summer flew by, and I sat on the shelf, making friends with broken Barbies and other unwanted stuffed animals.

    Pretty soon, the years rolled by, and I watch little Rosie grow up. In fact, my last day at her house was her first day of middle school. Rosie’s mom, who’s name is Abigail, took Rosie to school at 7:45. When she returned home, she came directly to Rosie’s room and began cleaning.

    Broken Barbie went first. She was dumped into a giant black garbage bag. There were six toys between Barbie and I. But, I was already freaking out. Where were we going? The dump? We couldn’t possibly be going to the dump. Could we? What happened at the dump? What was going on? Why?

    An old stuffed tiger was next. I never learned his name. My panic levels were rising. I didn’t know it was possible for stuffed animals to have anxiety attacks, but by golly, it sure is.

I closed my eyes, hoping that it would help me calm down. We weren’t actually going to the dump. How stupid could I be?

When I opened my eyes again, after convincing myself that this was a good thing, the worn out yellow duck that was usually right next to me was gone.

And a giant hand was in my face, threatening to take me away. I couldn’t even do anything to stop the inevitable. I closed my eyes again, hoping that somehow, it wouldn’t be so bad. I imagined the first day that I met Rosie, the first hug she ever gave me, the ride home, the games we played, the tea parties we had. I thought of how much she used to care about me. She was my best friend. My only friend.

Inside the bag was dark. I couldn’t tell who was near me. I thought it might have been the yellow duck, named Chicken. Maybe the long, blue, stuffed snake. I could make out Bright Bob, the light up turtle. He was to my left.

No one knew where we were going. I prayed that we weren’t going to the basement. Rosie took me once. It was cold, dank, and full of insects. I couldn’t let myself think about what would happen if Abigail left us down there. I’m sure the thought of it would send shivers down my spine, if I had a spine.

Luckily, Rosie owned a stuffed bear who wore a working watch. With his watch and Bright Bob’s light, the first few hours weren’t too terrible. It was always loud, too, which meant we weren’t trapped in the basement. I ended up falling asleep for awhile, and when I woke up, we were in a completely different environment.

Colors popped out from the walls and carpet. Cartoon characters were covering the walls. Stuffed animals just like me were everywhere. It took me a minute, but I finally knew where we were.

A children’s hospital.

A place where someone always needs a hug, or a cuddle. Where toys aren’t left behind or forgotten. Where toys are always used, and never stuck on a shelf only to be replaced and never played with again.

A place that I could get used to.