Through Another's Eyes

Here I am on my shelf again. Things are different now though. The laughter is gone and he is all alone. Only one word leaves his lips anymore: "Harry."

I remember when I was soft and new. I was on a shelf then too. But I was bought out of love as a present for him. Those were happy times. His grey eyes were always laughing and the green eyed, dark haired man, his "Harry", was here too. But "Harry" is gone now. I don't know what happened, but one day everything changed.

I remember "Harry" came home ecstatic about something. He was radiating happiness and it was contagious. They celebrated into the wee hours of the morning that night. Just enjoying each others company. But he was not as happy as he seemed. Behind those grey eyes was a sadness that no one seemed to notice. He laughed and smiled for his "Harry" but his heart was not in it.

The strange part is there was no fighting or yelling. Neither one of them cried. "Harry" just got up one morning, packed his things and left. I think it had to do with his happy news. He didn't seem too upset at first. It was almost like he was expecting it. Whatever the cause, he checked the paper everyday; I'm not sure if he's looking for news anymore or if it's just out of habit. He used to clip out articles and keep them in a box on my shelf. All the articles featured a smiling "Harry" usually on a broom, sometimes diving, holding a little gold bird. He looked happy to anyone who didn't know how to look. The happiness is all a scam. But I saw it behind his eyes; there was a sadness there. The same sadness I've seen in his grey eyes every day since "Harry" left.

He saved these articles for years. Soon there were too many articles and not enough boxes to hold them all. That's when it stopped. The clippings, the crying, the gatherings, the soft sweet smiles, everything stopped. It was like time itself stopped to be replaced by something vile. That's when the hours of blank stares started. Along with the long sleepless nights of boozing, and the nightmares that haunted him even while he was awake. I thought his "Harry" had banished the dark dreams, but without him here, he can't keep them away anymore.

One day I became curious and looked at the last article, the one he would spend hours poring over; the one that stopped time. I don't know why he was so upset. "Harry" was finally smiling like he meant it. The sadness behind his eyes was gone, and he was radiating happiness again. Maybe it had something to do with the pretty red head next to him. She definitely was an eyeful. Or maybe it had something to do with the letters M-A-R-R-I-E-D in the headline. Whatever the reason he is miserable now. I doubt "Harry" would recognize him anymore. He is a shell of what he used to be.

I wonder if "Harry" would recognize me as the beautiful bear he bought on a whim one bright sunny Saturday afternoon. I used to be brown and fluffy. I used to remind them of their love. I used to be well loved myself. Now I am dingy and an indiscriminant color. My fur is in patches and my seams are worn. I remind him of his "Harry" and now it hurts him like it never did before.

So here I sit on my shelf surrounded by all the boxes of old articles and the various other trinkets of his affections. Now we are a shrine to what he lost. We are all that is left of his "Harry".