Thanks For Being Here | Teen Ink

Thanks For Being Here MAG

December 2, 2022
By sfra327 BRONZE, Peoria, Arizona
sfra327 BRONZE, Peoria, Arizona
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

Content, happy, and satisfied — that’s how I feel. At least, that’s how I feel now that he’s gone. I can’t believe it was me that he allowed to lay in his bed every day. Now, when the door opens, I just get excited, as I never know when it could be him coming back. The walls are paper thin, and I hear everything around me. The source of the noises are just outside my reach, however, they don’t come to say hi. I don’t mind, they have things going on.

While I wait for a visitor, I stare at the blank wooden levels as they are always in front of me. I’ve never gotten to touch them, but they seem coarse. Their presence hovers over the room like clouds in the sky, providing a form of creativity in plain space. Holding inside them the possessions of my owner, granting them the creative spark in which they produce. He doesn’t come around often anymore, but I’m glad he is out building his new world.

As I wait for him to come back, I spend my time thinking about what new memories he’s out making. That’s how I’ve learned to spend my time, from when the sun peeks through the blinds until the moon finds its way through, too. Where I live is nice and comfortable, but I hope that when he comes back, he will decorate the walls with new memories, as things can get bland in this room.

I hope I can see my owner soon. He loved to mess up the bed every night as he crashed home from his eventful night. He sat at the wooden table in front of my bed every night, laughing and talking with people I couldn’t see, enjoying himself. He always stayed up late staring at a screen, he was happy, and I was right there with him. On the walls are pictures of a different world. I like to imagine that he’s out exploring those places now. I hope he’s traveling the world, making memories like the ones he made in front of me at his wooden table.

My new friend is really interesting. She isn’t always here like my old owner, but she does some of the same things. She stares at another smaller screen talking to someone or scrolling and laughing. She can get sad at times, but I’m always here to cheer her up. Sometimes I get a little soggy, but I don’t mind. I know she just wants something fluffy to hold on to, and I’m happy to be that for her. I just wish she wouldn’t hug me so tight; it always makes me feel like I’m losing my stuffing. I’m just happy that she chooses to make memories with me. Being here alone has grown on me. Its plain nature lets me explore my imagination. However, I do like it when people visit, it feels like they come in to make more memories, and I have more food for the imagination. The room sits dormant every day without someone to stir the atmosphere, so it feels like everything has settled and taken its place, so I am free to imagine whatever I please.

At times, I can see another one of my friends staring into the room. He never seems to walk in, and I can remember my owner never letting him inside, and he respects that. He just stands at the edge of the room and looks at me. He creeps me out because we look so similar, but we are obviously different. When I look at him, I wonder if maybe he and I switched places. If I were him, I might get to explore the world, but I prefer to stay where I am, free from the dangers of the world, and in my head, they play out.

But now he’s here. I feel it, I know it, I sense it. He is here. The same thud at the door and shake of the walls played in the house, signifying that someone just came home. Normally it doesn’t matter, but this time, I know it’s him. He still has the same cadence, the same weight behind the steps I hear, and how hard the door shuts. It has to be him; how could it not be when the house filled with laughter and things started to change from their usual blacks, whites, and grays into a burst of color? He was coming back to the room. Maybe now he might stay and fill the walls with snapshots of his adventures without me, or he might go back to talking on the screen like usual.

He’s here, and he opens the door. I’d have hardly recognized him if it weren’t for the comforting presence he provided me when he walked in. He walks in and sets his stuff down; with his arms free, he sits down and starts at the piano. “Clair de lune” — just like I remember. The notes he played seemed to remove me from any hardships, and I felt bliss. I hope he can stay a while now to create more lasting memories and experiences. However, if he leaves soon, I don’t mind; I just hope he goes to fill the rest of the world with color as he did to mine. 

The author's comments:

This is based off of my brother leaving for college seen through the lens of a stuffed animal in his room describing his emotions to the situation and being thankful for the time they spent

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