Hold On To Better Days

There's a teddy bear that sits on the Harrington's mantlepiece. No one knows just why it's there, but the people who enter the house regularly and view it guess it's special. Or at least, so he's been told. It's not an older-looking family heirloom by any sense, despite the Harrington name being from money. He had plenty of things that were older than a teddy bear, but they didn't matter as much.

The bear stares at him from it's perch and he can't help but stare back, almost seeing some type of living light from it's ghostly black sewn-in eyes. Then again, it is a black bear that looks a little creepy.

It's a black teddy bear, made of shiny material, with a small sweater and a guitar pick attached to its hand,j about the size of a medium vase, with silver studs stitched to its ears, the buttons of its shirt and its nose. It's shirt was made from a black and white patterned material and hangs around its shoulders, arms and torso cleanly. It's not torn or ruffled or manhandled in any meaningful way, it's pristine, like it was just unboxed and placed there.

No one knows why exactly it's important, but he knows. He knows what people think, that the bear is just...there. Present. Watching like a spectator as people file in and out. What they don't seem to realize is that it's also a good listener to, as somehow, every person who sees it feels drawn to talk to or greet it as they come in. Without fail. To make an excuse, he says just has its charm, but he feels like sometimes, it's something more to certain people. To some, feels like the bear has working ears some days.

He knows that feeling, as he too, treats it like a living, breathing object most days. Not many men in their mid 20's had stuffed animals anymore, but then again, no one had one like his. With a history he couldn't erase. That bear to him, to others, is the embodiment of hope, courage and maybe one day, peace. Something Hawkins lacked for decades.

At night, when no one's around, Steve likes to remove it from the mantle and sit it in front of the TV while something garbage on cable plays and he opens a beer, the bear getting on as well as a cigarette that will just go to waste later, the desperate culmination of feeling some type of normal he's never going to feel again as long as he's alive because no one understands.

No one in Hawkins knows that the leather that made the bear was soaked in blood when Steve pulled its remains from a body, that a sweat-filled, well travelled and sharpie-marked bandanna was peeled away to become a shirt. No one knows that even the guitar pick, was a sacrifice given to show that there was always going to be the presence of death. Everything about that bear is a mark of a life that should have been liven, but wasn't. It was only made for memory.

A memory that haunts Steve even in the light of day as he leaves the house for work and murmurs 'See you later, Eddie' before he closes the door.

The bear doesn't respond back, but he'd like to think it does.