The Desk and the Bear
The little bear is me. Its me before I turned left when I should have gone right. The one who wrote stories about Barbie and Ken in books I made with folded sheets of notebook paper. I can see myself sitting at the desk in my room; that wonderful desk that could be a playhouse with a blanket thrown over top, a place to escape into writing and drawing. I don’t know how long that desk was there or why it was there, but it changed me for all time and remains a lifeline that links me to that best of who I was. The desk is long gone, though I think that if I search long enough I might find something like it. I have seen one like it on the internet, but it is now worth over a thousand dollars.
When you pull out the drawer, it has a lid; a writing surface. It can be folded up away, revealing a storage area underneath. Somehow, I believed that what was stored in that compartment under the writing surface was hidden from everyone. A secret place. I’m sure it wasn’t, but I believed it; wanted it to be. On the rear side of that writing surface were slots for pencils to lay and a round hole for an ink well. Can you imagine. It was like a magical desk. To me, the desk was huge.
The bears are the me that was, but she’s coming back to life. In my journey to create myself anew, I’m not discarding all that I was. I’m keeping the best parts. The bear parts, I guess. Some parts of me are still a child, filled with wonder, dreams, and much hope.
I am Ren. Pleased to meet you.