(Just a short personal narrative that I wrote this evening under the strong influence of caffeine and excessive studying for finals.)

Thomas was alone. A solitary plush toy seated in the centre of a sea of black bed sheets. His back propped up against the small pile of pillows, he stared straight ahead with emotionless, glass eyes. He looked sad and forlorn, just sitting there with his soft, flexible limbs spread-eagled across the bedspread. He was alone. Alone in this room, alone in this house, alone in this world. That is how I found him, when I walked into my bedroom, leaving a long day of school and work at the door as I let my bags fall from my shoulders lazily. I was just about to begin my usual routine of changing into my evening attire and preparing my mind for the evening’s work, when I spared a glance at my bed. I met Thomas’s eyes, and he held them there. For a few moments, I merely stood, staring at the toy. It had been so long since I had last spared the stuffed animal a thought, let alone a glance, to the point where at that moment I was struck by my negligence. With a quiet chuckle, I walked over to the bed and picked the small, plush lion up in my arms, cradling him a bit as if he were a newborn cub, just as I had back when…

“Have you made a decision?”

I shook my head. “I don’t want a bear, Mummy!” I said, looking up to meet my mother’s kind gaze. “Don’t they have anything else?”

My mother looked down the line of bins arranged against the back wall of the small store, each with a pile of stuffed animal skins within, ready to be stuffed. It was early upon a Tuesday morning, when the mall in which the Build-A-Bear Workshop was located was not yet overcome by the thick rush of afternoon shoppers. I looked down the line, too, scanning the little plaques above the bins for an animal that would suit my interests. A cat? No, too feminine! It had to be something fierce, ready for adventure! How about a dog? Heavens, no. Dogs were fun, but they were not ferocious!

“How about this one, lad?” My mother asked, gesturing toward a bin near the end.

I walked over slowly, on clumsy eight-year-old legs, my last growth spurt having left one leg slightly longer than the other one. I looked into the bin and…

“This is perfect!” I exclaimed with glee, lifting an empty lion skin out. We wasted no time in returning to the front of the store and my mother handed the skin across the counter top, to have it stuffed full of fluff.

As the machine which would do the job whirred to life, an attendee asked me, “What will you name your new best friend?”

I stopped for a moment in serious contemplation. “Thomas,” I replied at last. “His name is Thomas.”

Then Thomas, freshly stuffed, was handed over the counter and into my eagerly expectant arms. I cradled him a bit, a large smile stretching from ear to ear. Thomas returned the smile, with a soft twinkle in his brown glass eyes.

Two months later I held onto Thomas tightly in excitement. Back over the sea again, but this time I had a friend with me! We felt the turbulence as the plane left America far behind us. It would be another five hours before either of us were to see land again, however, I did not mind. I had Thomas, and he would keep me company over the long trip. As the minutes dragged into hours I pulled out one of my many notebooks, and we began to write. I would write a few lines of a story, and then I would hand the notebook to Thomas, who was so kind as to proof read it for me. In this manner we past the time, happy in each other’s company.

With Thomas still in my arms, I sat down heavily upon my bed. The memories were returning, of all the good times… and the bad. I closed my eyes, allowing myself to be lost in the recollections of years long past.

Dirt. Nothing but sand and dirt. It was a sight that might have made the typical American house wife swoon, however it was what made up almost our entire world. We could not help but enjoy it, of course. The entirety of the Kalahari Desert was our back yard, with the expanse of flat land tall, dry trees, and scorched brown grass making up our playground. Before returning to America for furlough, it had just been me, playing in the dry dust by myself. However, now I had Thomas, and our adventures had no limits! One day, we were masked vigilantes, and the sandy landscape became a massive expanse of cityscape, in need of saving from a plethora of perils (including, but not limited to, giant snake-men, killer robots, evil arch villains, and the odd angry little sister). The next day we were travelling sorcerers, vanquishing evil from the kingdom with our powerful magics! We fought massive worm monsters, wicked enchantresses, and massive dragons with sword and sorcery, but of course we were always back home in time for lunch.

However, my time of play was consistently interrupted as my family was constantly moving. From house to house we shifted, never staying for longer than a few months before my father’s mission moved him to some other town in Botswana, Africa. The landscape was always the same, and with Thomas I did not even mind the change of accommodations. When work became tough for my parents, I did not notice, because I had Thomas to keep my attention. I never had time to make friends, we moved far too swiftly. However, I did not mind. I had Thomas, and Thomas had me.

I felt a tear fall from my face. My younger self had been blessedly ignorant to what had been happening around him. My family had been relocated from house to house, because Flying Mission, the anti-AIDS organization for whom my father worked, was swiftly losing financial support. My father had been devastated as his paycheck had grown smaller and smaller, to the point where the last Christmas that we spent in Botswana was devoid of presents. But I had not minded, because I had Thomas. But then the finances had completely dried up, and we were forced to leave the country, and leave everything that my father and his mission had worked so hard to achieve and maintain behind. I still remember my mother’s crying face as we boarded the plane from Johannesburg, South Africa, to return to the United States. She had been born in Africa, and had lived most of her life surrounded by the dry landscape. This may have been the last time that she would ever see what to her had been the only home that she had ever cared about.

But it was too late to pull out now. I allowed my mind to continue to reel back through the memories…

The tears stung my eyes as I hugged Thomas tight, hoping to draw comfort from him, to shield me from the barrage of abuse that I was facing.

I looked up at the cackling faces of the boys around me; all of them laughing gleefully and some of them pointing mockingly at me where I was sprawled upon the floor after having been pushed forcefully from my seat.

“I cannot believe that you still carry around dolls, Skaggs*!” One of them, a boy named Jon, guffawed. “You are, like, totally too old for that!” *(My last name)

In a way, he was right, and I acknowledged it internally. At twelve years of age, I was too old for stuffed animals and imaginary friends, however I would never be too old for Thomas. He was my constant companion and my best friend. Especially now, when every boy in my age group at church found it impossible to take me seriously. From the moment we had moved to this small town in the middle of nowhere, Kentucky, I had been singled out as “that weird kid from Africa.” At first I had reveled in the attention that my experiences had merited me, but things had swiftly turned sour as the other children had become acquainted with my strange accent and habits.

I jumped up from where I had fallen and ran out of the building. I did not care that it was still the middle of morning services at the small town church, I could not bear to be in their company for a moment longer. I held my best friend close to my chest, making sure not to lose my grip as I ran the entire two miles back to our house, where I slammed the door to my bedroom and collapsed upon the bed. I cried, hugging Thomas close. Thomas didn’t tease me. He didn’t call me names, or point at me, or use me as a punch line for his jokes. Thomas just sat, looking into in my eyes forlornly, sharing in my pain as I hugged him close.

The next three years would pass by in this manner. Though the other children “grew up,” maturing into sports players, video gamers, or socially-driven young adults, I remained apart from them, finding my solace in my constant companion. I poured the imagination which I could not project out across the small, cramped lawn into my writing, spending hours with Thomas on my lap and a pencil in my hand, scrawling and sketching out my thoughts, with no one there to witness but Thomas. I did not need friends, I told myself. I had Thomas. Thomas was the only friend I needed. He was my special friend.

But now he was alone. I had grown up. In a frenzy of quickly-moving events, my entire life had changed practically overnight. My father had been hired at a university in Cincinnati, Ohio, and we had moved there. Not long afterward I took up harp playing, and my Mum introduced me to a youth group of like-minded individuals, who didn’t care where I came from, what I sounded like, or what kinds of things interested me. Days turned into months, which subsequently turned into years, and my life kicked off. Thomas, however, remained behind. I did not even realize it, at the time, but I played with Thomas less and less, until eventually he never moved from the top of my bed, except to be set aside while I slept. My life had become so fast-moving and frenzied, that I had left him in the dust. So the years had passed, and Thomas was left alone, becoming an aspect of my past and a testimony to what I had moved on from. I graduated high school with high marks and set my passions as a writer into motion, writing short stories for friends and taking on small projects like script writing and editing papers.

But Thomas never moved. His fur colour became faded by time, and the twinkle in his glass eyes faded and dulled over. I don’t know how long it has been, in total, all I know is that, as I hold him in my arms, I feel guilty. Guilty for leaving him behind, for forging ahead on my own without him. He has done so much for me, eased me through times which would have been too unbearable to have experienced alone. But I had left him behind as soon as things began to pick up for me. How could I be so selfish.

I stared into his brown eyes, and my racing thoughts stopped in their tracks. Those eyes were calm, and at peace. The forlorn expression upon that soft face was no longer there, having been replaced by a visage of acceptance. I understood, now. If Thomas had been a real, living conscience, I know just what he would have told me. “Don’t be sorry for me,” I heard the high voice that I had always given him ring out in my head. “My purpose is done. You do not owe me anything.”

It is strange, to sit here, now, holding this small, artificial, inanimate object in my hands, but feeling more emotion for it than I had felt in a long, long time. No, not it. Him. I may have grow up, and I may have become a mature young adult. However, though the time may have come for me to grow in mentality and stature, I will never forget the times I spent, and the pain that I was spared, thanks to my constant companion and the best friend of my childhood. With a smile, which was returned to me, if only in my imagination, I placed Thomas back upon the pile of pillows, reveling in the memories of the times come and gone, and refreshed in my own purpose. For I knew that, no matter what I did from here on out, I would have my truest friend, my constant companion, cheering me on.

“When I became a man, I put away childish things. Including the fear of childishness, and the desire to be very grown up.”

~C.S. Lewis

If you are wondering why I am posting this here, it is because I love this community, and I trust you guys with personal narratives like these and, I hope, that by relaying my own experience, someone may be able to relate with it, and above all I can only hope that I can bring a smile to your faces in acknowledging that, though we grow in mind and body, there is always a place in our lives for happy memories of childhood.

And if my little bout of personal exposition has offended anyone, or came across as pointless, then I apologise. However, it is in my nature to share, and so, share I have.