A Different Point of View

My entire history started in a store. A place where every day was the same. I would sit on the top shelf and watch kids run through the aisles with their parents. They would pick out the new toys that came in big boxes or the electric cars they could drive down the sidewalk. But I stayed sitting on my shelf. It was okay. I didn’t complain. I knew my time would come one day. And it did. A little girl came into the store and picked me out from where I sat. Her parents asked if she was sure and she eagerly said yes. And my new life was underway. When I got home, she played with me for hours. We had tea parties and jumped on the trampoline in the back yard and went for car rides. I sat with other toys and watched over as she took naps. She started going to school. She’d run into her room to grab me to help with her reading or writing or math every day. I didn’t see her as often but that was okay. I’d get to see her before and after school. Soon she started to have friends over. They would bring their toys too and we would all play together. They would build pillow forts and play hide-and-seek with me. We would watch movies and laugh until her parents came in the room saying it was time for bed. She was growing up and slowly stopped running to get me every day. I’d still sit on her bed and watch her work at her desk. Every so often she would watch a movie with me. If she had a bad day we’d hug it out until she felt better. Soon enough, every day was the same. I would watch her get up early in the morning, get dressed, turn off the light, and shut the door behind her. I wouldn’t move. I would sit on the top of the shelf waiting for the door to open again. But, I took it upon myself each day to guard the room. If one of the dogs pushed the door open, I would make sure they didn’t destroy anything. If her mom came in to clean or pick up, I would make sure she didn’t put her treasures in strange places. I could see the sun outside her window, and I would watch it move through the sky. That was when I knew she would be returning. Most days she would come back into her room when the sun was low in the sky. She would sit down at her desk and pull out notebooks, pencils, and a computer. She would write for hours while watching videos. Sometimes they were of strange people playing video games. Other times it was a step-by-step on how to do homework. I could understand what was happening for a while, but once they started talking about derivatives, I was lost. Once a week she wouldn’t come back until the sun was down. She was

always tired on those days, almost immediately going to bed. Over the weekends she would stay up late. Sometimes other people would sleepover in her room. There were two girls who she would have over more than the others. They would stay up late playing games and talking. They’d sometimes laugh so hard that she would get texts saying ‘be quiet.’ One day she came home and didn’t leave again. She was very happy that day, saying to her friends that she was excited about a two-week break. But after that two-week period came and went, she was still at home. And things got worse. She would sleep late into the day and stay up hours past sunset. Sometimes she would talk to people on her computer. None of her friends came over to visit though. I could hear her family upstairs every day. Her dad never went on his work trips. Her mom never went to the store. The whole family was in the house together for months. It was something about not wanting to get sick. After seven months of living in her room, she went back to her old schedule. Her school opened up again (even though she had to cover her nose and mouth). She got to take classes she loved and see her friends every day again. They stayed the night and were louder than ever before. I could tell that they all were happy again. One day, boxes were brought into her room. She started with her clothes. Shirts and pants were folded and packed away. Sweatshirts were wrapped around glass objects. Books were spread out into different bags and suitcases so the boxes wouldn’t be so heavy. She moved to her shelves and started picking through trinkets and pictures, but she left me on my top shelf. And soon, she was gone. The room felt much more empty without her in it. The walls were close to bare and her things were mostly gone. All that was left she said was ‘too childish to bring.’ Occasionally, her mom would come in and move things around. She would wipe the dust off of the shelves. Sometimes her sister walked into her closet and would take a shirt or two. At the end of the day, she wouldn’t walk through the door. A month after she disappeared I had lost hope. I had nothing to look forward to. My task of looking over her things had ended. Five months later the door opened. And she walked through. A large suitcase was dragged into her room. I watched her sigh and fall over onto her bed with a smile. Her mom came in and asked how school was going. She said it was good. They talked like this for a while before they both went upstairs for dinner. I watched as she put up winter decorations. Felt was placed on her

shelves to look like snow. A small tree sat in the corner with small ornaments littering the branches. It looked cold outside but it was warm in her room. Three weeks had come and gone so quickly. Then she started to pack everything away again. She had to cram her new presents into the suitcase. As she reached for the last opened present, she looked at me. Right at me. I watched a smile sneak onto her face. She walked to my side of the room and picked me up. I had been on that shelf for years, but now she held me as she had done so long ago as a little girl. Her soft hands were warm and made me feel loved all over again. Then, she placed me inside the suitcase and zipped it closed. For a long time, I wondered what was happening. She wouldn’t be giving me away, right? There was no way she’d put me in the suitcase with all of her new things if she wanted to give me away. But what if I had been wrong? What if these weren’t new presents next to me. What if they were old and I’d never see her again? No. She wouldn’t do that to me. I didn’t know how much time passed, but the suitcase was opened. Light flooded my eyes, and all I could think was, “where are we?” It was a small room - one I had never seen before. It was smaller than the last one I sat in. Two beds were here along with matching desks and wardrobes. The posters and trinkets from her old room were scattered around this new room. A window overlooked a street and trees. We were much higher here than at home. The wall had a college pennant hanging from a hook. Was this where she had disappeared to for so long, weeks and months at a time? It took me a few weeks to get adjusted. She would come and go at strange times. Her schedule was more relaxed than it had been before, and new people visited her room. They didn’t play games as much as her old friends. These friends just sat. They all talked for hours, but I could tell she was happy. She seemed more like herself here with this new life. A day didn’t go by that she was upset or felt lonely. She was surrounded by people she loved all the time. They were all so different but also the same. This was a whole new beginning for me. She brought me to school with her. And now, I had a new purpose. I would help her through her new life, and we would do this together—I knew we could.