The Smokey Conspiracy

My earliest memory is of chocolate cake. Granted it was flying through the air at my father's head, but it was chocolate cake all the same. You see, my parents didn't have an ideal marriage, so to speak. Love was not lacking in their marriage just self-control, patience, and the ability to communicate. Before the age of ten, I thought that screaming and throwing small objects at people was just friendly conversation. But that's a story for another day, back to chocolate cake.

It was my fourth birthday and my mother let me pick the flavor of cake we would have that day so, being a normal child, I picked chocolate, chocolate, chocolate! It was on this birthday that I would receive a gift that I would grow to love with a fierceness that only a child could feel towards their favorite toy. He was a Smokey the Bear stuffed doll with a yellow plastic ranger's hat. Smokey was so cool. In no time at all we became the best of friends. We did absolutely everything together. When I ate breakfast, he was there. When I took a nap, he napped with me. When I took a bath, he watched (we were just friends!). Oh I remember the tea parties we threw and the toys we invited. We had so much fun. He never complained when I poured him cup after cup of tea. The first time I rode on an airplane, I was terrified. I didn't want to board the aircraft. Smokey was there to comfort me. He made me feel safe and confident. With Smokey's help, I was able to walk onto the plane all by myself without my mother having to drag me on kicking and screaming.

Then one fateful morning everything changed. I woke up all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed ready for a day of excitement and adventure with my best friend. I rolled over to wish Smokey a good morning but the words caught in my throat. He was gone! At first I thought that he had fallen out of bed but he wasn't on the floor. I looked under the blankets, under the bed, and in the closet, but he was no where to be found. I began to panic, worrying that something horrible had happened to him, so I recruited my mother and we formed a search party. We combed the house from top to bottom, searching everywhere. We left no pillow unturned and no cupboard door closed. We even searched the yard, to no avail. He had vanished into thin air, or so it seemed. My heart broke in two. Everyone tried to console me but I was beside myself with grief. I cried for days mourning my loss. I couldn't eat or sleep without my Smokey. My mother tried to replace Smokey with a stuffed Grover in the hopes that it would help to pull me through my grief, but I couldn't love him. I resented him for being there. I wished that he were the one missing instead of my beloved Smokey.

I'll never know what truly become of Smokey, but I have always been suspicious of my mother. She said time and time again that I was too attached to "that toy". To this day, she denies having any knowledge of or taking part in his disappearence, but isn't that what they all say? Let me just say that the next time she comes for a visit, I will be keeping my eye on her AND my stuffed Grover.