Protector

I used to have a teddy bear. I always believed that while I slept, the teddy bear, which I had lovingly named Rosa, would jump out of my arms. She would stand guard by me, fighting the bad dreams that tried to come to me and the monsters that tried to harm me. She rarely failed in her charge. When I woke up, she would quickly jump back into my arms and become motionless, appearing to the entire world to be just an immobile stuffed animal. She was more. I used to carry her everywhere. I never left the house without her. She was my guardian, my protector. When she wasn't near me, I felt vulnerable, alone. My father thought I was too big for a stuffed animal. How could I explain the connection that connected Rosa and I? How could I tell him that when I was scared I squeezed her, when I cried, she soaked up my tears? How could I explain to him that when I needed to hug someone and he wasn't around, or Mother wasn't around, she was always there? I could tell Rosa anything, and at night, no matter what happened, she would always guard me. Once I woke up and Rosa was not in my arms. She was engaged in an awesome battle against a dragon. The bulk of the dragon was beneath my bed, but its head lashed and snapped at poor Rosa. I lunged toward her, screaming "NO!" and woke up, truly this time, the exclamation still on my lips. Rosa, my little protector was still in my arms. That morning, I decided that it wasn't safe for Rosa to be my protector- she might get hurt. So I took her and kissed her goodbye. I put in a box, damp with my tears. The box was moved to the attic, and I slept fitfully. Soon, however, I grew accustom to protecting myself and I slept soundly. Years later, I went up to the attic and found the box, dust-covered, flaps warped. I opened it. Rosa sat inside it, sitting just as I had left her. I lift her out of the box and I swear she shed a tear, happy to be found again. One is never too old for a stuffed animal.