Little Things

Mr. Bumpy had never quite felt fulfilled as a plush bear. In the five years since Aunt Jess had bought him as a wedding gift for her niece Louise and her husband Franklin, there had never been too much real play. Mr. Bumpy knew this was to be expected: Louise and Franklin were adults after all, with work and chores and a million other things to keep them busy and fill their time. It wasn’t like they ignored him: his spot was on the bedside table next to where Louise slept, just behind the picture of the couple on their wedding day. Whenever Louise or Franklin would clean their room, they’d set him down to lay on the bed while dusting. Mr. Bumpy knew their hands very well: Franklin’s hands were firm and comforting, never squeezing Mr. Bumpy too hard. In contrast, Louise’s long, delicate fingers made it easy for Mr. Bumpy to slip out of her grip, especially if she was only holding onto one of his legs or arms. Mr. Bumpy wished that something more would happen, always wanting one or both of them to make believe or play pretend but they never did or at least they never included him.

Recently, Mr. Bumpy had heard chatter from the couple, but gossip was unbecoming of a plush bear so he would usually ignore it. Occasionally, the two would talk about a “new addition” to the family, and Mr. Bumpy couldn’t help but listen closer to their conversation. It seemed to him that Louise and Franklin were thinking about adopting a puppy, and he wasn’t quite sure how to feel about that. With a puppy around, he’d get even less attention, and if he ever ended up on the floor, the puppy might use him like a chew toy. Silly as it was, Mr. Bumpy appreciated how new he still looked: not too many stains, not much fading, both button eyes still sewn to his plush face. Louise and Franklin would always address Mr. Bumpy as “handsome,” and it filled him with a sort of pride. Imagining being tossed around and slobbered on or worse by a puppy, it was enough to make him shudder.

However, as the days went on, and it seemed more and more likely, Mr. Bumpy kept thinking about what it would be like. The puppy would play with him, right? Maybe it was a bit rougher than he’d like, but at least something in this family would be giving him attention. He imagined how soft and warm a puppy was, laying down with him, breathing softly as it slept. He imagined flying through the air, Franklin tossing him across the living room for the puppy to chase and catch. Thinking of the puppy sitting down in the laundry room, watching him spin inside of the dryer, waiting for a fresh and clean Mr. Bumpy to come out and play with, filled his little heart with a sense of longing and he decided it might not be so bad.

Soon there came a week that was very busy for the couple. They brought in all sorts of boxes into their room, things Mr. Bumpy had never seen before. He could only imagine they were for the new puppy, and he was convinced when Franklin began building some kind of pen. At the end of the week, dressed up in a way that reminded Mr. Bumpy of them on their wedding day, the couple left the apartment. They wouldn’t be back home for hours, and Mr. Bumpy had plenty of time to himself to think. He scanned the room, noticing all the ways it had changed: the pen Franklin had built was standing at the foot of the bed, with some kind of mobile with stars and a moon hanging from strings. Mr. Bumpy had heard it play a song, but couldn’t quite remember the tune. Under the bedside table was some kind of machine and a set of plastic bottles. He had heard Louise mention milk, but had no idea how the machine would be used for that. He also remembered seeing the couple move boxes of diapers under their bed. This made the most sense to the plush bear since he knew that puppies were rather messy.

Later that night, sitting in the dark, Mr. Bumpy tried to recall the tune he heard from the mobile. He hummed a few notes, but that didn’t sound quite right and he tried another. He was so absorbed in his task, he didn’t notice the bedroom door opening or the couple coming inside until after the lights were on. He felt Franklin grab him, and watched the bedside table, bed sheets, and the floor flash past him, before being set down onto something soft. Laying on his back, Mr. Bumpy tried to look for the puppy, to brace himself for the sniffing and poking and maybe even a little biting. Instead, he felt a soft, warm press, on his side, and looked that way. The world went quiet, and everything else fell away. Mr. Bumpy looked onto the baby that Louise and Franklin had set in the crib, and nothing else mattered to him anymore.

The baby, stretched out in the crib, barely making a sound, reached out for something to hold, and Mr. Bumpy felt himself slide right into their arms. The baby hugged him, and he hugged them back, trying to be as warm and comforting to them as they were for him. The whole time, while Louise and Franklin were changing into bed clothes and talking all around them room, Mr. Bumpy only listened to the sound of the baby’s breathing and its heart beat. Soon the lights were off again, Louise and Franklin tucked under the covers and fast asleep. In the dark, Mr. Bumpy strained to see the baby’s face, still listening closely. They gurgled, then whimpered. Mr. Bumpy began to hum a tune, softly, and never even realized that it was the tune he had been trying to remember. The baby’s weight shifted, but they never let go of Mr. Bumpy, and soon they drifted into sleep, Mr. Bumpy still humming. “Twinkle twinkle little star…”