Remember Me?

Ever wonder what the past would say if it could write you a letter?

I lift the lid of the mailbox, peering inside to find the standard array of bills and junk mail. Nestled among the long envelopes demanding money, a square envelope draws my eye. A childish hand penned my address in large block letters and addressed it to a nickname I thought was forgotten but didn’t give a return address. The rest of the envelopes slide onto the table just inside the door as I gently tear open the envelope. A few pieces of yellowed stationery slide out into my hand. As I begin to read, my brow furrows in confusion and tears form in the corners of my eyes.

Dear Bella,

I hear that is what everyone calls you now. I remember when your brothers used to call you Belly as they tickled you until you cried. Do you remember being that young? Have you forgotten me? Or do you remember how often I was the one to dry your tears?

You used to love me. You loved the feel of my soft fur on your face as you snuggled into sleep. You even loved my rich, deep voice. You loved when I sang “Proud Mary” because I sounded just like John Fogerty. I loved when you would sing along even though you were always out of tune.

In fact, there wasn’t anything about you I didn’t love. I loved the way you always smelled of sugar and dirt. I miss the mud pies you made for me even though I never ate them. I long for our adventures in the woods and quiet nights when you struggled to stay awake a little longer to watch the moon come up with me.

I remember everything. I even remember the night you went away with your mother and your brothers. You left so quickly, leaving me behind. By the time you came back, I was nowhere to be found. I like to believe you looked for me before being distracted by some new toy that your father bought out of guilt.

You thought they gave me away to another child who needed to be loved, didn’t you? Parents lie. They claim they are protecting you, but sometimes they just want to protect themselves from their own mistakes. I hope your forgive them. They love you as much as I do.

Where have I been? I’ve been gathering dust in the attic of your old house. I could have stayed here forever. I would have waited for you to come back, no matter how long it took. But they have discovered me. My fur is matted and covered in dust and mold. My once shiny, black eyes are now pitted and dull. They don’t want me. I don’t blame. I’ll go back to the trashcan after I mail this letter, but I had to write to you.

I know even you couldn’t love me now, but I still love you. Take care of yourself. You will always be my little girl, who wrapped her arms around me and dragged me along the grass because she wasn’t tall enough to keep my feet off the ground. I hope you had other friends to comfort you. I hope you still do. Just think of me from time to time, your first love, your first stuffed animal.

Love always,

Brown Dog

I read through the letter another time. Tears pour down my cheeks.

“Oh, Brown Dog, I do remember you.”

I place the letter on the table next to the unopened mail and step over to the stereo. I close my eyes and remember being young as Brown Dog sings “Proud Mary” for me one more time.