The Teddy Bar
by Michael S.
Collins
I’m lost,
can’t you help me? I was coming back from
the party and I can’t remember the way home.
The pink koala bear I just passed was so unkind
about it. No respect for the youth of today.
“Excuse
me, sir”, I said, “Could you point the
way to Katie’s bedroom?”
“Go
away”, said the koala, “Can’t you
see I’m contemplating the existence of
dragons?”
“But
dragons exist! I saw one at the party!”
“Don’t
be silly, child. There are no answers in
philosophy!”
And off he
walked, giving neither food for thought nor
directions to my young mistresses’ bed. It
may have come to your notice that I am not your
regular rambler on a Friday night. Yes, I am a
Teddy bear.
Don’t
look at me like that, as if I must be mad. A
teddy bear is a perfectly normal thing to be.
There are sixty million Teddy bears in Britain
alone, so why should it surprise you that I am
one of the proud many? Or, is your surprise based
on the fact that I am making my way down the road
in the early hours?
I suppose I
could let you in on a secret. We’re not
exactly toys. We live. We have short attention
spans. To make up for everything you subject us
to during the day, we come out to play at night.
Tonight I was at Snappy the Crocodile’s
birthday, and having had too much wine, I
can’t remember the way home. I got to the
pub with Snappy, but last I saw he was playing
cards with two scheming pandas.
This street is
brightly lit. What if I’m spotted? To be
fair, any person who spots me will think they had
too much drink. But some of them might find
beheading a child’s toy great fun, and that
is what I fear. Beheading of lost teddy bears is
the highest growing crime in Europe. And that
would be a hideous fate for any creature,
especially one as wonderful as me.
Trying to
remember the path home. There is some way of
going past the garage without entering the park
– a scary trip for anyone after dark –
and hopefully the fresh air will help my memory.
Well, it is worth a try. The streets seem so dark.
I think there was a power cut affecting the
lamplights. Either that or they just don’t
expect people coming home at this time.
There they are!
They were lurking in the darkness at the foot at
the street, just behind the car workshop: no-gooders,
of a teenage human male type. And this meant only
one thing. Beheading was but a false step away.
They ignored me, and I could slip past them into
the garden. The garden? I’m home. I walked
so much that I’ve ended up home after all. I
quickly climbed in through the open window,
dusted myself down and climbed into bed.
Home safe now.
I always knew I would be. And no one knows about
this little journey. Except you and me. You
won’t tell anyone about this, will you? Mind
you, it wouldn’t matter if you did, no one
would ever believe you. After all, I am a Teddy
bear.
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