Stuffed Toy

By Michael Juha ---------------------- “Mikoooo!!! What is this again!!!” My mom. I knew what she’s screaming at. She saw my newest stuffed animal which I hid inside my closet. From time to time, she comes to my room to get my laundry or simply check me for no reason. I expected that scream already. Weird, but it’s the same reaction over and over. I rushed to my room and when I saw mom there, I just stared at her. “This rabbit was still alive yesterday when you bought it. Don’t tell me it died again of a mysterious circumstance and that’s the reason you stuffed it! When will you stop this madness!” I just stood there. I knew that if I would reason out or say any word, she would never believe it. It’s the same thing over and over. I do things, she demands reasons and when I reason out, she doesn’t believe a word I say. And the sermon prolongs and repeats over and over. So, it’s better to keep a shut mouth until she leaves me alone in peace. So after a seemingly endless litany of things about animal rights, cruelty, compassion and everything, she left grumpily. It’s one of the things that I and my mom, I mean stepmom, disagree. My real mom left me and my dad when I was ten. One night, I heard dad and her having a fight in their room. They were shouting. The following day, I didn’t see my mom again. My dad said that she left on her own and never to come back. It broke my heart to hear such news from dad. I loved my mom so much. Being a loner and introvert, I felt that she was the only person in the whole world who understood and loved me. So when she left us, it was like my world stopped and I didn’t know what to do. I cried every night. I was devastated. At a young age, it was already instilled in my mind that life is tough and cruel. When I was fourteen, my stepmom came. I wasn’t really sure if she’s a stepmom or just my father’s mistress since I didn’t know if he divorced mom or worse, if he killed her. I had no idea. But since dad told me she was, so I believed him. He’s my dad after all. In the beginning, I thought I could no trust and be close with my stepmom. But I was wrong. It turned out that she was as loving as my mom. She understood me and never left my side. With her, I learned to be happy again. Then as if by a twist of fate, dad left me and my stepmom too. The last time I saw my dad, he and my stepmom were in the receiving room of our house exchanging fits of anger. I couldn’t figure out the reason for their fight. It is still fresh in my mind when my stepmom pleaded for dad to stay. But dad was furious and hit her on the face. He left us anyway without a trace, without saying anything, leaving me under the care of my stepmom. Later, my stepmom told me that dad had a mistress and he migrated with her to another country. I didn’t know if she just invented a story so I would stop nagging her about dad. But if she did invent that story, it was a good one. So I developed this fear or phobia of being left behind by loved ones. Actually, this fear started when I was ten. I am a loner type of person. I don’t like to mingle with friends or other boys. I don’t know. I just don’t feel comfortable with people. When I’m with them, I feel like they are draining my energy. I don’t know what to do or say to start a conversation. So most of the time, I’m alone, especially when mom and dad are away for work. But I had one loyal company, Spunky, a golden retriever. I found him on the street when I was nine. He was still a puppy at that time, and really a cute one. For fear of being found by the real owner, I hid him in my room. Since Spunky came, I was so happy. It was like the dog completed my life. Every morning, I would wake up excitedly looking forward to play with the dog. But Spunky left me too. He got killed by a speeding car. I was so heartbroken. Unable to accept his demise, I kept his body in my room, inside a sealed box with a see-through glass lid. I didn’t know how to preserve a dead body then. So through it, I watched my little Spunky rot inside that box day by day... Due to Spunky’s loss, I promised to teach myself how to preserve a dead animal body. I learned. And I became very good at it. Meanwhile, pain of losing my only friend was so difficult to get over. And that pain was compounded when later on my mom left me too, and then followed by my dad. I felt that nobody loved me. These incidents were ingrained deeply in my mind and led me to believe that anyone I would love, or any person who would be close to me would leave – sooner or later. So when dad and mom gone, my stepmom filled in the gap. In spite my just being a stepson to her, she continued to care for me. She treated me like her own kid and assured me of her love. She told me that even if all the people I love will leave me she will always be there for me. For that, I trusted. That’s how I learned to love her too, and how I considered her to be my “real” mom. Despite our little arguments, we have each other. One day, mom had a visitor. “Miko, meet Marco... a friend.” My stepmom introduced his friend to me. Marco was a tall, good-looking hunk, probably in his early twenties. His hair was long and wavy, his nose pointed, and his even set of teeth showed when he released that alluring smile. He wore jeans and a blue-striped semi-fit shirt revealing his well-built body. I extended my hand for a handshake. Marco grabbed it. “Nice to meet you Miko!” I released a faint smile. I looked him in the eyes. “Nice to meet you too.” I replied and then hurriedly left to my room. There was jealousy deep in me. I knew that Marco was her boyfriend. I heard it from other people; they say that my stepmom has a young good-looking boyfriend. That made me mad. While I was in my room, I could hear them talk and occasionally guffaw and giggle. There was a weird feeling I couldn’t understand. I could sense that mom was in love with him. And it was not impossible for Marco to really fall for her. At 35, mom still looked fit, sexy and her age didn’t show. She was still very beautiful. That made me all the more jealous... Marco and mom seemed a perfect match. If they would decide to get married, I wouldn’t know what will happen to me. I was not ready to accept another man in the family; much less a non-relative. And I was not ready either to have someone steal her attention. With my real mom and dad gone, I couldn’t afford to lose her too. (To be continued)