I remembered the first time me and Isabella met on her fifth birthday. Unlike other parents who would actually pick a present for their child, her mom just took her to the store and told her to pick a toy. Her mother, a busy woman, looked like she wanted to be anywhere but here. Opposite of her mom, the little girl lights up the whole room when she walked in. At that moment, I thought, “I wanted to be her friend forever so I can make her smile every day.”

As if fate decided to help me, I came home with Isabella that day. “I will call you Bonbon because you look like candy,” she said. From that day on, I have a name and a friend to call my own. She shared everything with me and I try my best, with my limited abilities, to make her happy. Every sad, happy, angry, amazing moments of her life, I was there. I thought it would last forever.

But then, people grow up unlike us teddy bears so here I sat, on top of the shelf, dirty, ripped, forgotten. I told myself, “It would be weird for a grown up to play with toys. I understand.” So I sat there, watching over her and her family, smiling through the pain. At one point, it gets too hard to keep my eye open in my condition. Slowly, I started to close my one eye. Then, something magical happened.
“Oh my goodness, kids, look! I found my favorite teddy bear. Oh, I forgot about it. We’ll go clean and patch it up.” I cannot believe it. Once again, I feel alive, even for an unanimated object. I promise I would always watch over this family until the day I disappear.