Happy Detritus
Oct. 12th, 2025 03:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
unicornfartz“You’re replaceable,” Cowgirl Bonnie says. “We’re all replaceable.”
Bobo doesn’t know what replaceable means, but he doesn’t like the way it sounds. Soldier Joe turns to Cowgirl Bonnie and smirks.
“He really thought he’d be with her forever,” he says mockingly. “It’d be charming if it wasn’t so stupid, huh?”
“Oh, be nice to him, Joe. He’s new. He doesn’t’ know the way the world works.”
“He’s about to learn,” Joe says with a shrug.
Bobo shakes his head. “About to learn what? I don’t understand.”
“You’re about to learn that people outgrow us,” Cowgirl Bonnie says. “That people move on. And when they outgrow us, they leave us behind.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s saying that Beth is too old for us now. She’s done playing with toys,” Joe snaps. “She likes boys and makeup. She’s a young woman now and doesn’t have use for us—”
“We’ve been through it before,” Cowgirl Bonnie says. “We didn’t always belong to Beth.”
If Bobo’s eyes could have grown wide, they would have. But black buttons don’t have the ability to convey emotion.
“You didn’t?” Bobo asks.
“No, the last person I belonged to was a boy. And I really don’t want to talk about the things he used to make me do.” Bonnie shakes her head and her plastic body shudders.
Barbie, who’d been sitting quietly in the corner scoffs. Bobo turns and looks at her. She’s missing an arm, her hair has been shaved off, and half her face has been colored blue.
“You didn’t have it half as bad as I did, sister,” Barbie says, and Bobo believes her.
Bobo’s can’t frown with the red thread that make up his lips, but he would have. None of this sounds good to him. Beth has always been so happy with him. He lived for her hugs and loved laying next to her at night, listening to her sleeping. And when she cried out in the night, gripped by a nightmare, he always brought her comfort. He had soaked in her tears until she was feeling all right again and danced with her when she giggled with joy.
It's true that she’s growing up. Beth isn’t the same pigtailed, gap-toothed girl she was when Bobo first came into her life. But he’s always been there for her. He’s part of her as much as she’s part of him. And he can’t believe she’d just move on from him the way the others are saying. But then, they have been around a lot longer than he has. They’ve seen more life than he has and understand it in ways he doesn’t.
Solider Joe nudges him. “You see that big cardboard box over there?”
“Yes,” Bobo says.
“You see what’s written on the side?”
“I can’t read.”
Joe scoffs. “It says thrift store.”
“What is a thrift store?”
“It’s where they send you to be taken apart. They’ll pull out all your stitching and rip out your stuffing and then—”
“Joe, shut up,” Bonnie snaps. “Don’t scare poor Bobo like that.”
Joe chuckles darkly. Bonnie shakes her head and turns to him. Bobo doesn’t want to admit it, but Joe scared him. The thought of being taken apart sounds terrible.
“The thrift store is where you go when our people outgrow us,” she explains.
“And what happens at the thrift store?” Bobo asks.
“Well, there you’ll wait until some new person comes and finds you and takes you home,” Bonnie says. “And then they’ll be your new person.”
Joe scoffs. “Do you really think anybody’s going to want to be his new person? I mean, look at him. His ratty. He’s got stuffing sticking out of places stuffing shouldn’t be sticking out of. Bobo is going to somewhere but it ain’t going to be to a new person.”
“Joe, shut up,” Barbie says. “You are such a jerk.”
“What? I’m bein’ honest.”
Bobo catches sight of himself in the mirror and wants to cry… but can’t, because his eyes are made of buttons. What Joe said isn’t a lie. He is a bit threadbare, his fur is a bit matted, and he does have white fluff sticking out in a few spots. But he’s in that condition because Beth loved him so much and so well.
“I don’t want a new person,” Bobo says. “Beth is my person.”
“Beth outgrew you, kid,” Joe says. “That’s why the box is out. We’re all going to take a ride and end up somewhere else.”
“I don’t want to think about where I’m going to end up,” Barbie sighs. “I’m a mess.”
“I think it’s the scrap heap for you, darlin’,” Joe says.
“At least I won’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“But I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want a new person,” Bobo cries.
“That’s the hard lesson you’re about to learn, unfortunately,” Bonnie says. “None of us have a choice. We’re all temporary and eventually, our people will outgrow us. Eventually, they will grow up and leave us behind.”
“Take heart, Bobo,” Barbie says. “We may be temporary, but we bring joy to our people’s lives, if only for a little while. And that is a beautiful thing. Being able to touch somebody’s life, to bring joy to their life… it’s a beautiful thing.”
“Is this touchy-feely, estrogen-fueled, group therapy session over yet?” Joe mutters.
“Shut up, Joe,” Barbie barks.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Bobo says.
“Life isn’t fair, Bobo,” Bonnie says. “But you brought a lot of joy to Beth. You made her happy when she was sad. And that’s enough.”
“Not for me.”
“It has to be,” Bonnie says. “And the thing is, there is always somebody else waiting for us. If you let yourself be open to it, you will always find a new person.”
“There will be others,” Barbie agrees.
“Maybe not for a ratty old teddy bear, but—”
“SHUT UP, JOE!” Barbie and Bonnie shout in unison.
Footsteps sound in the hallway and Beth’s mother enters the room. She sighs then picks up Barbie, Joe, and Bonnie, and tosses them into the thrift store box. Hands on her hips, she turns around and sees Bobo sitting there.
“And how’d you get all the way over here?” she asks.
The giant woman reaches down and plucks Bobo off the floor. Barbie, Bonnie, Joe, and everybody else already in the box grunt as he lands on top of them.
“You’re made of fluff. How in the hell are you so heavy?” Joe whispers.
“Shut up, Joe,” Bobo finally snaps.
Bobo lays on top of the pile wishing more than anything that he could cry. The grief that courses through him is deeper than anything he thought he’d ever feel. The thought of losing Beth, of never seeing her again makes him wish maybe somebody would tear out his stitching and scatter his stuffing. It sounds far less painful.
Bobo has no idea how much time has passed. He doesn’t have a watch and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to read it. All he knows is the grief he feels makes every minute feel like an hour. He hears footsteps approaching, and he’s sure this is it. This is where they take the box to wherever this thrift store is where he will supposedly find another person. He’s doubtful that will happen. And even if it does, he knows he will never have the same bond with them that he shares with Beth. He’ll never find another person like her.
As he bemoans his fate, he sees Beth’s face peer over the edge of the box. One last glimpse of her, he supposes. But then she reaches in and plucks him off the pile. Bobo is confused as she hugs him to her and smiles.
“Mom! What is Bobo doing in the box? He’s not going with the rest!”
“Sorry!” her mother calls back. “I didn’t know.”
Beth stares down at Bobo, her eyes shining with love in a way Bobo wishes his would. She smiles then kisses his forehead.
“You’re my best friend, Bobo. You’ve been with me through thick and thin,” she says. “I’m never giving you up. Never in a million years.”
Bobo was a stuffed bear and didn’t have a real heart. But he knew if he did, it would have swelled in that moment. If not for his eyes being black buttons, he would have cried with both love and joy. And if not for his arms being made of stuffing, he would have hugged her back.
Beth was his person.
Now and forever.
Bobo doesn’t know what replaceable means, but he doesn’t like the way it sounds. Soldier Joe turns to Cowgirl Bonnie and smirks.
“He really thought he’d be with her forever,” he says mockingly. “It’d be charming if it wasn’t so stupid, huh?”
“Oh, be nice to him, Joe. He’s new. He doesn’t’ know the way the world works.”
“He’s about to learn,” Joe says with a shrug.
Bobo shakes his head. “About to learn what? I don’t understand.”
“You’re about to learn that people outgrow us,” Cowgirl Bonnie says. “That people move on. And when they outgrow us, they leave us behind.”
“I don’t understand.”
“She’s saying that Beth is too old for us now. She’s done playing with toys,” Joe snaps. “She likes boys and makeup. She’s a young woman now and doesn’t have use for us—”
“We’ve been through it before,” Cowgirl Bonnie says. “We didn’t always belong to Beth.”
If Bobo’s eyes could have grown wide, they would have. But black buttons don’t have the ability to convey emotion.
“You didn’t?” Bobo asks.
“No, the last person I belonged to was a boy. And I really don’t want to talk about the things he used to make me do.” Bonnie shakes her head and her plastic body shudders.
Barbie, who’d been sitting quietly in the corner scoffs. Bobo turns and looks at her. She’s missing an arm, her hair has been shaved off, and half her face has been colored blue.
“You didn’t have it half as bad as I did, sister,” Barbie says, and Bobo believes her.
Bobo’s can’t frown with the red thread that make up his lips, but he would have. None of this sounds good to him. Beth has always been so happy with him. He lived for her hugs and loved laying next to her at night, listening to her sleeping. And when she cried out in the night, gripped by a nightmare, he always brought her comfort. He had soaked in her tears until she was feeling all right again and danced with her when she giggled with joy.
It's true that she’s growing up. Beth isn’t the same pigtailed, gap-toothed girl she was when Bobo first came into her life. But he’s always been there for her. He’s part of her as much as she’s part of him. And he can’t believe she’d just move on from him the way the others are saying. But then, they have been around a lot longer than he has. They’ve seen more life than he has and understand it in ways he doesn’t.
Solider Joe nudges him. “You see that big cardboard box over there?”
“Yes,” Bobo says.
“You see what’s written on the side?”
“I can’t read.”
Joe scoffs. “It says thrift store.”
“What is a thrift store?”
“It’s where they send you to be taken apart. They’ll pull out all your stitching and rip out your stuffing and then—”
“Joe, shut up,” Bonnie snaps. “Don’t scare poor Bobo like that.”
Joe chuckles darkly. Bonnie shakes her head and turns to him. Bobo doesn’t want to admit it, but Joe scared him. The thought of being taken apart sounds terrible.
“The thrift store is where you go when our people outgrow us,” she explains.
“And what happens at the thrift store?” Bobo asks.
“Well, there you’ll wait until some new person comes and finds you and takes you home,” Bonnie says. “And then they’ll be your new person.”
Joe scoffs. “Do you really think anybody’s going to want to be his new person? I mean, look at him. His ratty. He’s got stuffing sticking out of places stuffing shouldn’t be sticking out of. Bobo is going to somewhere but it ain’t going to be to a new person.”
“Joe, shut up,” Barbie says. “You are such a jerk.”
“What? I’m bein’ honest.”
Bobo catches sight of himself in the mirror and wants to cry… but can’t, because his eyes are made of buttons. What Joe said isn’t a lie. He is a bit threadbare, his fur is a bit matted, and he does have white fluff sticking out in a few spots. But he’s in that condition because Beth loved him so much and so well.
“I don’t want a new person,” Bobo says. “Beth is my person.”
“Beth outgrew you, kid,” Joe says. “That’s why the box is out. We’re all going to take a ride and end up somewhere else.”
“I don’t want to think about where I’m going to end up,” Barbie sighs. “I’m a mess.”
“I think it’s the scrap heap for you, darlin’,” Joe says.
“At least I won’t have to listen to you anymore.”
“But I don’t want to go anywhere. I don’t want a new person,” Bobo cries.
“That’s the hard lesson you’re about to learn, unfortunately,” Bonnie says. “None of us have a choice. We’re all temporary and eventually, our people will outgrow us. Eventually, they will grow up and leave us behind.”
“Take heart, Bobo,” Barbie says. “We may be temporary, but we bring joy to our people’s lives, if only for a little while. And that is a beautiful thing. Being able to touch somebody’s life, to bring joy to their life… it’s a beautiful thing.”
“Is this touchy-feely, estrogen-fueled, group therapy session over yet?” Joe mutters.
“Shut up, Joe,” Barbie barks.
“It doesn’t seem fair,” Bobo says.
“Life isn’t fair, Bobo,” Bonnie says. “But you brought a lot of joy to Beth. You made her happy when she was sad. And that’s enough.”
“Not for me.”
“It has to be,” Bonnie says. “And the thing is, there is always somebody else waiting for us. If you let yourself be open to it, you will always find a new person.”
“There will be others,” Barbie agrees.
“Maybe not for a ratty old teddy bear, but—”
“SHUT UP, JOE!” Barbie and Bonnie shout in unison.
Footsteps sound in the hallway and Beth’s mother enters the room. She sighs then picks up Barbie, Joe, and Bonnie, and tosses them into the thrift store box. Hands on her hips, she turns around and sees Bobo sitting there.
“And how’d you get all the way over here?” she asks.
The giant woman reaches down and plucks Bobo off the floor. Barbie, Bonnie, Joe, and everybody else already in the box grunt as he lands on top of them.
“You’re made of fluff. How in the hell are you so heavy?” Joe whispers.
“Shut up, Joe,” Bobo finally snaps.
Bobo lays on top of the pile wishing more than anything that he could cry. The grief that courses through him is deeper than anything he thought he’d ever feel. The thought of losing Beth, of never seeing her again makes him wish maybe somebody would tear out his stitching and scatter his stuffing. It sounds far less painful.
Bobo has no idea how much time has passed. He doesn’t have a watch and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to read it. All he knows is the grief he feels makes every minute feel like an hour. He hears footsteps approaching, and he’s sure this is it. This is where they take the box to wherever this thrift store is where he will supposedly find another person. He’s doubtful that will happen. And even if it does, he knows he will never have the same bond with them that he shares with Beth. He’ll never find another person like her.
As he bemoans his fate, he sees Beth’s face peer over the edge of the box. One last glimpse of her, he supposes. But then she reaches in and plucks him off the pile. Bobo is confused as she hugs him to her and smiles.
“Mom! What is Bobo doing in the box? He’s not going with the rest!”
“Sorry!” her mother calls back. “I didn’t know.”
Beth stares down at Bobo, her eyes shining with love in a way Bobo wishes his would. She smiles then kisses his forehead.
“You’re my best friend, Bobo. You’ve been with me through thick and thin,” she says. “I’m never giving you up. Never in a million years.”
Bobo was a stuffed bear and didn’t have a real heart. But he knew if he did, it would have swelled in that moment. If not for his eyes being black buttons, he would have cried with both love and joy. And if not for his arms being made of stuffing, he would have hugged her back.
Beth was his person.
Now and forever.
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2025-10-13 03:07 pm (UTC)This is why all of my stuffies stay firmly in my house. I couldn't break their hearts and give them away.
no subject
Date: 2025-10-13 05:52 pm (UTC)My youngest started college, but switching the bedrooms around, I found so many of her stuffed toys. I bought a stuffed animal "hammock." She visited this weekend and isn't yet ready to let go of (all) of them. A few did find new homes with her cousins though.
no subject
Date: 2025-10-13 06:46 pm (UTC)Dan
no subject
Date: 2025-10-14 04:32 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-10-14 12:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2025-10-14 09:26 pm (UTC)Thank goodness things turned out all right for Bobo-- though he also got loved in a different way than the other toys, and they have no way of knowing that.