Distortion

When I was just a baby my cousin Ami made me a blanket. One side was a quilted pink material and the other was fashioned out of a predominately white fabric on which was printed the words “I love bears”. Scattered about each phrase were large stenciley prints of the letters B, E, A and R. On each letter climbed a yellow bear donning a green baseball cap.  I called the blanket Love Bears.

I am not sure when the dependency began, but there came a time when falling asleep without one of Love Bears’ corners against my cheek made me feel…different. Uncomforted and uncomfortable.

When I became of age to spend nights away from the familiar confines of my own home, I recall the internal conflict I struggled as my young brain worked to determine which was worse: sleeping without Love Bears, or having sleepover friends consider me childish for bringing her along. One evening, while packing for a weekend away at Little Notch Girl Scout Camp, I confided my fears in my mother, who always seemed to have the perfect solution in times like these. She devised a plan to roll Love Bears up between the folds of my sleeping bag and include a note that went something like this:

Carrie, 
I will miss you very much while you’re away. I don’t want you to get too cold during the night, so I have included an extra little blanket to keep you warm just in case. Have fun! xoxo

Love, Mom

The following night, by the light of a kerosene Coleman lantern, I slowly unrolled my sleeping bag to reveal Love Bears tucked neatly between the layers. As I lifted her up in feigned surprise, my mother’s handwritten letter fluttered down to rest beside Sarah Franklin’s Velcro-sneakered feet. “What’s this?” she asked as she stooped to retrieve it from the wooden planked floor of our spider infested lean-to. “I dunno,” I responded with an air of disinterest. But as my troop members gathered around and read the note by the orange glow of the lantern, I grasped Love Bears against my chest, certain that the timing had been just right, certain that my sweet mommy’s plan had been perfectly executed.

__________

Years later, a senior in high school, and now over my fears that a baby blanket could cost me my reputation, I pushed aside a change of clothes, flip flops, a bathing suit, and sunscreen to cram Love Bears into my carry-on bag. Me, Alissa, Megan, and Caitlin had deflected the stigma associated with Girl Scouts and stuck it out through our senior year. Now Troop 233 was about to celebrate with a seven day cruise to the Caribbean. Our first stop was Miami, where we’d spend a night before embarking the following the morning. Aside from lost luggage, which appeared in the nick of time thanks to a group prayer to the powers that be, things went off without a hitch and within twenty four hours we had boarded the Carnival cruise ship and were gorging ourselves at the all-you-can-eat buffet. But somewhere between the brie cheese and the watermelon Slushie, it hit me: I didn’t have Love Bears. I swallowed hard as I imagined her being shaken out from between the hotel sheets, shoved into a large black garbage bag amid other guests’ discarded trash, and hauled off to the dumpster behind the building by a hotel housekeeper. I cried like a baby as my mom and the other girls assured me that they’d do their best to get her back when we returned to Miami to catch our flight home.

Not a chance, I thought.

One week later, tanned and saltwater logged, we found ourselves back at Miami International Airport. As we waited for our flight, I sat on a bench beside Alissa as happy travelers scuffled by. Through ringing ears I heard my mom’s requisite pep talk. “I’m gonna call the hotel to see if they have it, Care; it’s been a week, though, so let’s not get our hopes up,” she said before intrepidly marching off to a row of payphones with a quarter in hand. Her back to me, I watched as she nodded her head once, twice, three times… my heart stopped as she hung the phone on its cradle and turned back toward the bench. My eyes fixed on a red Jansport suitcase that rolled swiftly behind the heels of its owner. A rock lodged into the rubber of the left wheel scratched against the tile on each rotation.

“It’s there,” my mom stammered breathlessly. “They’re sending it over with the hotel shuttle on its next run.” In her voice I heard the tension over my anguish exit her body.

Relief. Elation. Giddy happiness. Megan, Alissa, and Caitlin hugged me all at once.

With my mom’s arm looped through mine, we waited at the entrance to the airport; the oppressive Florida heat hit us in waves each time another traveler’s entrance set the wide automatic doors flying open. When the shuttle came into view, I ran outside and fidgeted at the curb as the driver placed the vehicle in park. As the folding doors opened, I felt a gust of cold conditioned air meet my bare arms. The driver, a stout Mexican man, descended the stairs. His dark eyes locked with mine; he smiled knowingly. Without a word he handed me Love Bears, tipped his hat, and climbed back up the stairs.

__________

Flash forward a decade. Snowy night, December 2009. I lock up, put Joey in her crate, feed the cat, and brush my teeth. I am ready to sink in between the sheets of my bed and fall off into a restful night of sleep, but as I reach over and draw Love Bears to my cheek, something feels off. Unraveling the waded ball of fabric, I shrink back, scream, look away.

“Tell me…. there isn’t a hole. Please. Tell me….” I scream as I shove Love Bears into Marty’s hands. He cautiously scans her over. I watch for his signs.

His face goes flat. 

I hear the blood rushing in my ears.

“Yes… Babe….” he says gently, knowing that his words are the key that unlock the wrong door. And then: “But we can fix it, Babe. I”ll ask your mom. I’m sure she can sew right up, make it just like new.”

It’s too late. My fabric-eating cat has destroyed it. Chewed a six inch hole right through the climbing bears and blocky lettering.

I don’t want “Just like new.”

Tears pour from my eyes and I run downstairs, trying to get as far away from the point of pain as possible. I crumble like a doll to the kitchen floor and sob until snot and tears fall from my face and conjoin into a puddle on the  tile. My memory flashes back to all the nights I held Love Bears to my face and was lulled off to sleep by the comforting familiar scent of home... of childhood.

__________

My mom has since sewn the hole shut, covered the reminder of that night I was made painfully aware that even the very best things change and become distorted with time.

The hole may no longer be visible, but I know it’s there.
And nothing in my life has been the same since.