Short Story #1 – Sarah Bourdeau

Short Story #1 Draft

Short Story Step One

Teddy Bear

My germaphobia began with a stuffed animal. A bear, named Teddy, to be precise. My preschool had a class bear, where each week one of the kids would take Teddy home and care for him. With him, came a list of duties.

For two minutes, twice a day, brush Teddy’s teeth with the provided toothbrush.

The dark blue toothbrush arrived in Teddy’s care package.

Include Teddy at mealtimes, afterall, a growing bear has a big appetite

A yellow and blue spiral-griped spoon accompanied Teddy too.

Brush his fur at least once a day to avoid tangles

A brush from Build-a-Bear with the signature paw print shape with tough bristles would aid this task.

Using Teddy’s washcloth, pat away any dirt that he gathers.

Blue, again much like his other equipment from his toolkit.

Teddy enjoys falling asleep to stories, do tell him your favorite stories each night.

The classic baby blue nightcap with a darker blue pompom to top it off.

Most importantly, play with Teddy, he gets lonely and needs a friend.

This portion was up to whoever was in ownership of Teddy that week. I was determined to make this bear have the best week of his life.

After months of waiting, Mrs. Sparks finally released Teddy into my custody, reviewing all responsibilities that come with him. Propping him in my arms so he could sit, I felt where his pale brown fur curled slightly, except for his stomach where straight white fur blossomed. I was most worried about this zone, pure white was a dangerous matter for a bear meant to be kept clean. I feared for Teddy, what horrors others may have put him through. An immediate protection took over, much like a mother to her child.

The first night I was overjoyed, never allowing Teddy to leave my peripherals. I brushed his “teeth”, took care to comb his fleecy fur, and brought out a bowl for his “mac and cheese”. I tucked him into a makeshift bed and retold The Princess and the Pea to the best of my five year old ability. I disliked the idea that Teddy had accompanied my other classmates in their homes. Despite his numerous care tasks, I feared other people’s ability to keep him clean.

“Erin, aren’t you going to allow Teddy to sleep with you?” my mother inquired.

I held firm and relayed how Teddy wanted to have his own space. I think I meant me.

The following morning, I decided it was time to have some fun with my new companion. I let him have some beauty sleep while I made my way into the kitchen to grab a gallon-sized ziplock bag. Encountering my mother on the way back to my room with a mix of confusion and slight concern on her face. I assured her I was going to use the bag for Teddy while we played.

Heading to the playset with the dirt-streaked and sun-bleached yellow slide and dark green swings in a similar condition, I placed Teddy in the bag. My neighbor, Emma, slunk over to where Teddy and I were going down the slide.

“Why is that bear in a bag?” She asked.

“I don’t want him to get dirty, but we need to play… I poked air holes for him so don’t worry” I answered.

Emma looked at me kind of sideways but decided not to press. She was there the day I flung my bunny, Rose, Webkinz into the pool last winter. She never looked the same after entering those frigid waters, and later the washing machine. Her fur was stiff and unmoving, trauma in her eyes, it was horrible. I was not going to let Teddy get dirty.

Word Count: 620

Short Story Step Two

A Weekend with a Bear

My germaphobia began with a stuffed animal. A bear, named Teddy, to be precise. Ms. Sparks sat us down on the rainbow-tiled rug of Room 4, I sat on an orange one, though I would have preferred the outskirts of the red. The sun came blazing through the windows behind the teacher. Thankfully, the easel at her right blocked the rays from blinding me. Many of my peers were squinting in pain to view the poster paper, their faces starchy. Except for the triplets all donning those transition lenses, their view darkening as if we were outdoors. Sitting criss-cross as we were told to do, I played with the hem of my dress while listening to the teacher.

“I want you all to meet Teddy,” Ms. Sparks announced. On a stool beside her, sat an diffident stuffed teddy bear smiling in a lowercase w shape. A commotion of greetings filled the classroom, complete with a wave. Some are a bit more enthusiastic and drawn-out than others. I remained attentive to Ms. Sparks and Teddy.

“Now, each weekend one of you will bring Teddy home,” The teacher continued.

Ms. Sparks went on to ask us what sort of care we must do for ourselves each day, and translated those to Teddy’s needs. She broke out a brown Mr. Sketch scented marker, the one that smells like root beer, to write down all of these duties.

For two minutes, twice a day, brush Teddy’s teeth with the provided toothbrush.

She held up a dark blue toothbrush that would arrive in Teddy’s care package.

Include Teddy at mealtimes, afterall, a growing bear has a big appetite

A yellow and blue spiral-griped spoon accompanied Teddy too.

Brush his fur at least once a day to avoid tangles

A brush from Build-a-Bear with the signature paw print shape with tough bristles would aid this task.

Using Teddy’s washcloth, pat away any dirt that he gathers.

Blue, again much like his other equipment from his toolkit.

Teddy enjoys falling asleep to stories, do tell him your favorite stories each night.

The classic baby blue nightcap with a darker blue pompom to top it off.

Most importantly, play with Teddy, he gets lonely and needs a friend.

This portion was up to whoever was in ownership of Teddy that week.

Take pictures of you and Teddy on an adventure for our class scrapbook. I was determined to make this bear have the best weekend of his life.

The first night I was overjoyed, never allowing Teddy to leave my peripherals. I brushed his “teeth”, took care to comb his fleecy fur, and brought out a bowl for his “mac and cheese”. I tucked him into a doll bed and retold The Princess and the Pea to the best of my six-year-old ability. I disliked the idea that Teddy had accompanied my other classmates in their homes. Despite his numerous care tasks, I feared other people’s ability to keep him clean.

“Erin, aren’t you going to allow Teddy to sleep with you?” my mother inquired.

I held firm and relayed how Teddy wanted to have his own space. I think I meant me.

Clutching Teddy in my arms, we headed to the playset with the dirt-streaked and sun-bleached yellow slide alongside the dark green swings in a similar condition. My neighbor, Emma, came galloping over to where Teddy and I were about to go down the slide.

“Who’s your new friend?” She asked.

“This is Teddy, we need to play… want to join us on our adventure?” I answered.

Emma looked at me excitedly and she introduced herself to Teddy and shook his paw. Last time we played with a stuffed animal outside, I flung my bunny Webkinz into the pool last winter. She never looked the same after entering those frigid waters, and later the washing machine. Her fur was stiff and unmoving, distress in her eyes, it was horrible. I was not going to let Teddy get dirty, and Emma agreed.

We determined that the ground involved too much dirt, so the monkey bars morphed into a ship, ready to sail at high winds. Testing said winds with a raised finger, it was declared that such gales were headed East, towards Emma’s trampoline, an excellent destination. With Teddy as our captain, Emma and I crawled back and forth along the tops of the bars pretending to hoist sails and yank ropes. With a few encounters from menacing sharks and a rouge tentacle, we dashed across the yard and launched ourselves onto the safety of Emma’s trampoline. Of course, it was more than a trampoline, an exotic abandoned island with strange creatures lurking at night. Teddy sat watch while Emma and I collected sticks for our fire, which we sat shivering around as we told ghost stories and shared theories about the island.

“I saw a tiger as wooly as a sheep, with the teeth of a wolf, standing on two legs!” Emma proclaimed.

“Well, did you see those bones? It looks like ancient people lived here, maybe that monster killed them.” I offered. Emma embraced Teddy, reminding me that we should not frighten him. I agreed and we settled in our cave to sleep.

At that point, Emma’s mom stuck her head out the back door to call her in for lunch. We goodbye-d and Teddy and I returned home too.

“Well Teddy, what should we do now?” I asked, almost expecting a response.

“You’re right, let’s have a tea party, I’ll let you meet my other friends!” I spoke in this one-way conversation.

Later that night, as I was preparing myself and Teddy to go to bed, my mom stopped in my room to ask about our day. Picking up the hairbrush on my dresser, she began combing through the tangles accumulated from sailing and surviving on a deserted island. After a few particularly painful snags, I asked her to stop, but that’s when she asked me for a flashlight. I kept one in my nightstand in case the power ever went out during the night. I asked why she needed one, fear growing in my chest, but if she was concerned, she gave no sign of it.

Word Count: 1202

Short Story #1 Workshop Draft

A Weekend with a Bear

My germaphobia began with a stuffed animal. A bear named Teddy, to be precise. Around the first time I lost a tooth, Ms. Sparks sat us down on the rainbow-tiled rug of Room Four. I sat on an orange one, though I would have preferred the outskirts of the red. The sun came blazing through the windows behind the teacher. Thankfully, the easel at her right blocked the rays from blinding me. Many of my peers were squinting in pain to view the poster paper, their faces starchy. Except for the triplets all donning those transition lenses, their views darkening as if we were outdoors. Sitting criss-cross as we were told, I played with the hem of my dress while listening to the teacher.

“I want you all to meet Teddy,” Ms. Sparks announced. On a stool beside her sat a diffident stuffed teddy bear smiling in the shape of a lowercase w. A commotion of greetings filled the classroom, complete with a wave. Some kids are a bit more enthusiastic and drawn-out than others. I remained attentive to Ms. Sparks and Teddy.

“Now, each weekend, one of you will bring Teddy home,” The teacher continued.

Ms. Sparks went on, asking us what sort of care we must do for ourselves each day, and translated those to Teddy’s needs. She broke out a brown Mr. Sketch scented marker, the one that smells like root beer, to write down all of these duties we must heed for the stuffed bear.

For two minutes, twice a day, brush Teddy’s teeth with the provided toothbrush.

She held up a dark blue toothbrush that would arrive in Teddy’s care package.

2. Include Teddy at mealtimes. After all, a growing bear has a big appetite.

A yellow and blue spiral-griped spork accompanied Teddy too.

3. Brush his fur at least once a day to avoid tangles.

A brush from Build-a-Bear with the signature paw print shape and tough bristles would aid this task.

4. Using Teddy’s washcloth, pat away any dirt that he gathers.

Blue, again much like his other equipment from his toolkit.

5. Teddy enjoys falling asleep to stories, do tell him your favorite stories each night.

The classic baby blue nightcap with a darker blue pompom to top it off.

6. Most importantly, play with Teddy, he gets lonely and needs a friend.

This portion was up to whoever was in ownership of Teddy that week.

7. Take pictures of you and Teddy on an adventure for our class scrapbook.

I was determined to make this bear have the best weekend of his life.

After months of waiting, Mrs. Sparks finally released Teddy into my custody, reviewing all the responsibilities that come with him. Propping him in my arms so he could sit, I felt where his pale brown fur curled slightly, except for his stomach where straight white fur blossomed. I was most worried about this zone, pure white was a dangerous matter for a bear meant to be kept clean. I feared for Teddy, what horrors others may have put him through. An immediate protection took over, much like a mother to her child. Still, I twirled the white hair around my index finger in anticipation.

The first night I was overjoyed, never allowing Teddy to leave my peripherals. I brushed his “teeth”, took care to comb his fleecy fur, tossed aside a few white pieces of lint, and brought out a bowl for his “mac and cheese” at dinnertime. I tucked him into a hot pink doll bed and retold The Princess and the Pea to the best of my six-year-old ability. I disliked the idea that Teddy had accompanied my classmates in their homes. Despite his numerous care tasks, I feared other people’s ability to keep him clean.

“Erin, aren’t you going to allow Teddy to sleep with you?” my mother inquired.

I held firm and relayed how Teddy wanted to have his own space. I think I meant me.

The following morning, I decided it was time to have some fun with my new companion.

Clutching Teddy in my arms, we headed to the playset with the dirt-streaked, sun-bleached yellow slide alongside the dark green swings in a similar condition. My neighbor, Emma, came galloping over to where Teddy and I were about to go down the slide.

“Who’s your friend?” She asked.

“This is Teddy, we need to play… want to join us on an adventure?” I answered.

Emma looked at me excitedly and she introduced herself to Teddy and shook his paw. The last time we played with a stuffed animal outside, I flung my bunny Webkinz into the pool last winter. She never looked the same after entering those frigid waters, and later the washing machine. Her fur was stiff and unmoving, and the distress in her eyes was horrible. I was not going to let Teddy get dirty, and Emma agreed. I unceremoniously squeaked down the slide to plant my feet at the bottom, standing next to her. Frowning, I think she grew taller than me.

“What now?” Emma asked, seemingly unaware of her new-found height over me.

We determined that the ground involved too much dirt, so the monkey bars morphed into a ship, ready to sail at high winds. Testing said winds with a raised finger, it was declared that such gales were headed East; towards Emma’s trampoline, an excellent destination. With Teddy as our captain, Emma and I crawled back and forth along the tops of the bars pretending to hoist sails and yank invisible ropes. After a few encounters with menacing sharks and a rouge sea-stricken tentacle, we dashed across the yard and launched ourselves onto the safety of Emma’s trampoline. Of course, it was more than a trampoline, an exotic abandoned island with strange creatures lurking at night. Teddy sat watch while Emma and I collected sticks for our fire, which we sat shivering around as we told ghost stories and shared theories about the island.

“I saw a tiger as wooly as a sheep, with the teeth of a wolf, standing on two legs!” Emma proclaimed.

“Well, did you see those bones? It looks like people lived here, maybe that monster killed them.” I offered. Emma embraced Teddy, reminding me that we should not frighten him. I agreed and we settled in our cave to sleep.

As the rooster crowed – somehow appearing on an otherwise vacant island –, we awoke from the night’s slumber, stretching wide for effect.

“I know, let’s make a raft!” I prompt.

Emma had a hammock stretching between two posts — to us, a perfect raft. Wildly rocking the sides like a crazed metronome, we caught Teddy from being flung into the abyss of the ocean on a few occasions, each time a rigidity striking my heart. As thrilling of a ride the raft was, I grew fearful for my companion and requested a pause.

At that point, Emma’s mom stuck her head out the back door to call her in for lunch. I feigned disappointment, making an empty promise to continue later. We said our goodbyes, and Teddy and I returned home, relief settling in.

“Well Teddy, what should we do now?” I asked, almost expecting a response.

“You’re right, let’s have a tea party, I’ll let you meet my other friends!” I spoke in this one-way conversation.

Later that night, as I was preparing Teddy and me to go to bed, my mom stopped in my room to ask about our day. Picking up the hairbrush on my dresser, she began to comb through the tangles accumulated from sailing and surviving a deserted island. After a few particularly painful snags, I asked her to stop, but that’s when she asked me for a flashlight. I kept one on my nightstand in case the power ever went out during the night. I asked why she needed one, fear growing in my chest, but if she was concerned, she gave no sign of it.

“Well, when you play outside so much, you gather a lot of debris from that trampoline,” My mother elaborated. I still felt she was holding something back when I felt her body tense behind me.

“Oh,” She let out. “Jim,” She calls down the short hallway to the living room, where my dad lays on his recliner.

“Yeah, hon?” He projects back dully.

“Can you come here for a second?”

I register a series of noises as a result, beginning with the cascading click as his iPad is shut down, his feet are heard being placed on the hardwood floor as he springs the recliner back down, and subsequently, his sneakers patter down the hall, toward my bedroom. He looks tired.

“Lice.” My mom states. His eyes go wide then retract. My teeth clack down, reverberating in my skull. Lice? Is she serious? If I knew the word “shit” I would say it here.

I had heard horror stories from my mom about kids that come into her clinic with thousands of nits sprung from their eggs. To think the same pests were clung to my scalp was catastrophic.

My mom laid the brush on my dresser, slowly rose, and left the room. Any reassuring words or shadow of a doubt wafted out of the room behind her. My dad tailing her too.

“Mom?” I called out. Nothing.

I shrunk under the weight of the desertion, skirting over to my mirror to look at the nape of my neck. Lo and behold the speckled dandruff-like pests entangled in my roots. My parents’ stifled voices echoed from the kitchen, cabinets whined on their hinges and clapped shut. Something about precious Teddy was stated. Trash bags rustled open in the whir of motion, and my parents swooped back into my room. They did not even look at me as they snatched up my stuffed animals like litter off the interstate, Teddy included. I watched as the bags slumped against the garage floor. I tug my Aerial nightdress and try accosting my mom again.

“Mom, what’s going on?” I ask.

“Erin, I’m going to need you to not ask questions right now…go grab a cup of hot water for me,” She dismissed me. Her highlighted hair was now up in a high ponytail.

I did as she asked, clasping the opaque pink plastic cup, and filling it with the hottest water I could get from the sink. I returned it to my room as my mom dropped my hairbrush in with some rubbing alcohol. With a fine-toothed comb, she began picking out the lice.

“We are going to have to get rid of some of your stuffed animals,” She began.

“What!” I shrieked.

“Just wait,” How is she so calm? I wondered. “You can save some but there’s no way we can keep them all, I’ve been telling you forever that we needed to get rid of some.” She continued. I can’t believe it, how can I ever hold them again after they have been deluded with lice? And what will the kids at school think?

“But Teddy,” I began.

“Teddy too, I will call Ms. Sparks in the morning to let her know, and Emma’s mom,” She trailed off. The nits were sticky, I don’t want to know how, but my mom clawed through my wavy hair and tossed them into the cup until her hands were cramping and no more eggs were visible. We marched over to the sink and she ferociously scrubbed my head somewhat painfully. My dad, meanwhile, stripped my bed, mumbled about pests and shared bears, and pulled out the vacuum as my mom told him off. I stood to the side with my dripping hair soaking the towel around my neck as my mom repeatedly went over the same spots in my room with the vacuum. Voom, voom, voom. Back and forth like the swings on my swing set. My head swarmed with anxieties, none of which were consoled. It’s all my fault that the rest of the class won’t get to care for Teddy, and the teachers will have to clean the rugs and toss out the toys. And what about Emma? What if I gave her lice too?

A flash brought me back from my spiral. My dad had grabbed the camera and snapped a picture of me standing, with sopping wet hair, arms crossed, Aerial with her picture-perfect hair on my nightgown, barefoot on the kitchen tile. A little dazed, I glared at him.

“What? It’s for Teddy’s scrapbook!” He smirked. What a jerk.

After forty-eight hours my stuffed animals were given bail from their thin plastic prisons. Terrified of potential remaining pests, I allowed my mom to donate them, except for Teddy, who got us into this nightmare. Ms. Sparks didn’t want him back, it seemed like he had been through enough. His w-smile and beaded eyes looked to me for freedom through the trash bag. Teddy did end up in the washing machine after all, his fluffy white stomach fur became more rigid, but I liked him all the same.

word count: 2171

Workshop Reflection

The workshop helped me gain ideas on where this story might need more attention. Particularly tension-wise in the build-up to the reveal of the lice. I plan on extending the scene to further the parental connection and tension in general. I also want to expand on the aftermath of the events of the story. Where I begin the story with germaphobia but do not address it later on is a vital aspect I need to work on. And some additional hints at the lice problem for clarity of where it came from and how Erin feels about being forced to give up the stuffed animals, that she holds dearly. Overall, my classmates gave good suggestions in class, and their comments on eportfolio, which I will take into consideration when revising this story. I also can better identify my story’s strengths after today, which I can use to my benefit as I add to it.

Final Draft

A Weekend with a Bear

“Now, each weekend, one of you will bring Teddy home,” The teacher continued.

Ms. Sparks went on, asking us what sort of care we must do for ourselves each day, and translated those to Teddy’s needs. She broke out a brown Mr. Sketch scented marker – the one that smells like root beer – to write down all of these duties we must heed for the stuffed bear.

For two minutes, twice a day, brush Teddy’s teeth with the provided toothbrush.

She held up a dark blue toothbrush that would arrive in Teddy’s care package.

Include Teddy at mealtimes. After all, a growing bear has a big appetite.

A yellow and blue spiral-griped spork accompanied Teddy too.

Brush his fur at least once a day to avoid tangles.

A brush from Build-a-Bear with the signature paw print shape and tough bristles would aid this task.

Using Teddy’s washcloth, pat away any dirt that he gathers.

Blue, again much like his other equipment from his toolkit.

Teddy enjoys falling asleep to stories, do tell him your favorite stories each night.

The classic baby blue nightcap with a darker blue pompom to top it off was there too.

Most importantly, play with Teddy. He gets lonely and needs a friend.

This portion was up to whoever was in ownership of Teddy that week.

Take pictures of you and Teddy on an adventure for our class scrapbook.

I was determined to make this bear have the best weekend of his life.

After months of waiting, Mrs. Sparks finally released Teddy into my custody, reviewing all the responsibilities that come with him. Allison, my friend from class, was out today. She had Teddy this past weekend, and now she’s missing me getting him! Oh well, she must be sick or something. Propping Teddy in my arms so he could sit, I felt where his pale brown fur curled slightly, except for his stomach, where straight white fur blossomed. I was most worried about this zone; pure white was a dangerous matter for a bear meant to be kept clean. I feared for Teddy, what horrors others may have put him through. An immediate protection took over, much like a mother to her child. Still, I twirled the white hair around my index finger in anticipation.

The first night, I was overjoyed, never allowing Teddy to leave my peripherals. I took care to comb his fleecy fur, tossed aside a few white pieces of lint, and brought out a bowl for his “mac and cheese” at dinnertime, and brushed his “teeth”. I could tell that my parents enjoyed seeing me take on this responsibility, it made me care for myself simultaneously. I tucked him into a hot pink doll bed and retold The Princess and the Pea to the best of my six-year-old ability. I disliked the idea that Teddy had accompanied my classmates in their homes. Despite his numerous care tasks, I feared other people’s ability to keep him clean.

“Erin, aren’t you going to allow Teddy to sleep with you?” my mother inquired.

I held firm and relayed how Teddy wanted to have his own space. I think I meant me.

The following morning, I decided it was time to have some fun with my new companion.

“Who’s your friend?” She asked.

“This is Teddy, we need to play… want to join us on an adventure?” I answered.

Emma looked at me excitedly, introduced herself to Teddy, and shook his paw. The last time we played with a stuffed animal outside, I flung my bunny Webkinz into the pool last winter. She never looked the same after entering those frigid waters, and later the washing machine. Her fur was stiff and unmoving, and the distress in her eyes was horrible. I was not going to let Teddy get dirty, and Emma agreed. I unceremoniously squeaked down the slide to plant my feet at the bottom, standing next to her. Frowning, I think she grew taller than me.

“What now?” Emma asked, seemingly unaware of her new-found height over me.

We determined that the ground involved too much dirt, so the monkey bars morphed into a ship, ready to sail at high winds. Testing said winds with a raised finger, it was declared that such gales were headed East, towards Emma’s trampoline, an excellent destination. With Teddy as our captain, Emma and I crawled back and forth along the tops of the bars, pretending to hoist sails and yank invisible ropes. After a few encounters with menacing sharks and a rouge sea-stricken tentacle, we dashed across the yard and launched ourselves onto the safety of Emma’s trampoline. Of course, it was more than a trampoline, an exotic abandoned island with strange creatures lurking at night. Teddy sat watch while Emma and I collected sticks for our fire, which we sat shivering around as we told ghost stories and shared theories about the island.

“I saw a tiger as wooly as a sheep, with the teeth of a wolf, standing on two legs!” Emma proclaimed.

“Well, did you see those bones? It looks like people lived here. Maybe that monster killed them.” I offered. Emma embraced Teddy, reminding me that we should not frighten him. I agreed, and we settled into our cave to sleep.

As the rooster crowed – somehow appearing on an otherwise vacant island –, we awoke from the night’s slumber, stretching wide for effect.

“I know, let’s make a raft!” I prompt.

“Well Teddy, what should we do now?” I asked, almost expecting a response.

“You’re right, let’s have a tea party, I’ll let you meet my other friends!” I spoke in this one-way conversation.

“Well, when you play outside so much, you gather a lot of debris from that trampoline,” My mother elaborated. I still felt she was holding something back when I felt her body tense behind me.

“Oh,” She let out. “Jim,” She calls down the short hallway to the living room, where my dad lays on his recliner.

“Yeah, hon?” He projects back dully.

“Can you come here for a second?”

I register a series of noises as a result, beginning with the cascading click as his iPad is turned off, his feet are heard being placed on the hardwood floor as he springs the recliner back down, and subsequently, his sneakers patter down the hall, toward my bedroom. My mom sighed in impatience, I looked back at her in time to see the end of an eye roll. She sees me looking and returns to a neutral expression. My dad enters the room, he looks tired.

It is quiet for a moment, as some unspoken thoughts attempt to be conveyed. My dad scratches his stubble-like beard, the dry-scraping sound makes me recoil as he waits for my mom to speak.

“Well? Did you want to show me something?” He asks after another moment. My mom eyes him again, seemingly holding back something important. She lets out a heavy breath, I feel it on my head. It makes me reach to itch it, but my mom nabs my hand before I get that relief.

“Lice.” My mom states. His eyes go wide then retract, his hand drops from his beard, and my mom releases my hand. My teeth clack down, reverberating in my skull. Lice? Is she serious? If I knew the word “shit” I would say it here. But no, that would be a few years later when it would enter my vocabulary.

I had heard horror stories from my mom about kids that come into her clinic with thousands of nits sprung from their eggs. To think the same pests were clinging to my scalp was catastrophic.

My mom laid the brush on my dresser, slowly rose, and left the room. Any reassuring words or shadow of a doubt wafted out of the room behind her. My dad tailing her too.

“Mom?” I called out. Nothing.

I shrunk under the weight of the desertion, skirting over to my mirror to look at the nape of my neck. Lo and behold, the speckled dandruff-like pests entangled in my roots. A cry-like grumble arose in my throat, heat creeping up my neck and into my cheeks. And the itching. Fierce prickling all over my body sent me twitching about my room. Crumpling into a heap, I held my sullied hair between my fingers as tears materialized in my eyes. My parents’ stifled voices echoed from the kitchen, cabinets whined on their hinges and clapped shut. Something about precious Teddy was stated. Trash bags rustled open in the whir of motion, and my parents swooped back into my room. They did not even look at me as they snatched up my stuffed animals like litter off the interstate, Teddy included. I watched as the bags slumped against the garage floor. I tug at my Aerial nightdress to try to combat the choked sobs, and try accosting my mom again.

“Mom, what’s going on?” I ask, my throat dry, and face wet.

“Erin, I’m going to need you to not ask questions right now…go grab a cup of hot water for me,” She dismissed me. Her highlighted hair was now up in a high ponytail.

I did as she asked, clasping the opaque pink plastic cup and filling it with the hottest water I could get from the sink. I returned it to my room as my mom dropped my hairbrush in with some rubbing alcohol. With a fine-toothed comb, she began picking out the lice.

“We are going to have to get rid of some of your stuffed animals,” She began.

“What!” I shrieked.

“Just wait,” How is she so calm? I wondered. “You can save some, but there’s no way we can keep them all. I’ve been telling you forever that we needed to get rid of some.” She continued. I can’t believe it; how can I ever hold them again after they have been deluded with lice? Does this mean no more tea parties? And what will the kids at school think when they find out?

“But Teddy,” I began.

“Teddy too, I will call Ms. Sparks in the morning to let her know, and Emma’s mom,” She trailed off.

The nits were sticky — I don’t want to know how — but my mom clawed through my wavy hair and tossed them into the cup until her hands were cramping and no more eggs were visible. We marched over to the kitchen sink, and she ferociously scrubbed my head somewhat painfully. The mix of herbs and chemicals engulfs my nose and the surrounding kitchen. The smell haunts me to this day. My dad, meanwhile, stripped my bed, mumbled about pests and shared bears, and pulled out the vacuum as my mom threw him warning glances.

“We might just have to shave your head like mine,” My dad teased, gesturing to his own bald head. I felt like crying.

I stood to the side with my dripping hair soaking the towel around my neck as my mom repeatedly went over the same spots in my room with the vacuum. Voom, voom, voom. Back and forth like the swings on my swing set. My head swarmed with anxieties, none of which were consoled. It’s all my fault that the rest of the class won’t get to care for Teddy, and the teachers will have to clean the rugs and toss out the toys. And what about Emma? What if Teddy gave her lice too? My mind reminds me of my poor companions out in the garage; will I really have to lose my closest friends?

“What? It’s for Teddy’s scrapbook!” He smirked. What a jerk.

After forty-eight hours, my stuffed animals were given bail from their thin plastic prisons. Terrified of potential remaining pests, I allowed my mom to donate them, except for Teddy, who got us into this nightmare. Ms. Sparks didn’t want him back; it seemed like he had been through enough. His w-smile and beaded eyes looked to me for freedom through the trash bag. I felt ashamed looking back at him, he was my responsibility after all. Teddy did end up in the washing machine after all, his fluffy white stomach fur became more rigid, but I liked him all the same.

I recently found the picture of me standing in a puddle of my own misery that my dad took that night. I cringe as I recall the seer distress I was in at the time, and how it has carried into my life now. This escapade left me with a renewed sense of fear around germs and bugs. Combing my fingers through my hair unconsciously mortifies me if I feel any piece of lint or speck of anything now. I take longer showers to scrub my scalp almost incessantly. I learned that petroleum jelly and certain oils kill lice and keep bugs away. I have since carried tubs of Vaseline and various essential oils in my backpack or purse, alongside hand sanitizer and Clorox wipes for any and all purposes.

“Erin, you were a kid, everyone gets lice, you’re overreacting,” my mom would say through the phone.

“No, Mom, I’m just prepared.” I would reiterate.

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