Toy Box of a Twenty-Something
So many memories trapped in this box.
I open it and hold them in my hands.
Tears come to my eyes.
My body knows why,
but my mind is judging me.
“Is this how adults behave?”
as if these toys were never alive.
As if I was never a lonely kid with infinite time
who breathed life into these cloth creatures,
gave them stories and names—
except for my first bear, who never had a name,
but who had been in my life since we were the same size.
There was Judy, my twitchy-eyed doll, so much smaller than I remember.
And Canyon, the cougar—where was his girlfriend Cinder, the bear?
The couple who never had children, but always had each other.
She was in another box.
How many years had they been separated?
Trapped in plastic totes where they could see each other, just out of reach
but never touch.
Now that I close the door, they can have a proper reunion.
They hug and kiss like lovers who have been imprisoned in separate cells,
not knowing if or when they would ever see each other again.
The lullaby from a baby doll music box played,
and the family of my imagination was back.
There were Tiny and Tuffy, two dogs who were brothers and best friends.
They belonged to a whole family of dogs who married a whole family of cats.
Pounce and Chip were their wives.
This is the last time we would ever play together.
As this is my childhood home.
And I only came back to clean out the closet
because nobody lives here anymore.
Except for right now.
While the door is closed,
I bring them to life.
They don’t need me to live,
but I need them to remember
what it’s like to be a lonely kid with infinite time.
Where did infinity go?
I’ve had these toys for as long as I have known.
How many tears did they wipe away?
Fights did they cause?
Lessons did they teach?
How many monsters did they scare away so that I could fall asleep?
And yet, I can’t remember all of their names.
Our game comes to an end.
I put them away,
I make sure Canyon and Cinder are together
before they start their new lives
with a new lonely kid,
someone worthy,
who doesn’t need to close the door when they play.
Their lives are out of my hands now,
and I am sure it’s better this way.
I wouldn’t love them the same
if I saw them every day.
Poetry
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July 10,
2020
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2-minute
read
Shelby Thevenot
is a writer based in Montreal. She writes about Canadian immigration for CIC News. Her feature articles have been published in the Toronto Star, CBC Montreal, and others. Before journalism she wrote stand-up comedy, plays, and copy. More at shelbythevenot.com.