I've driven this road a thousand times before. The lake is low for this time of year, the place where it used to rise void of the chaparral that lines dots the rest of the hillside. Anthony is singing, something about 'roni and cheese, and talking about his bear. He named him Vince, after his little brother. Vince is the Hobbs to Anthony's Calvin. And when he woke up this morning, Vince was gone.
He spent the night outside of my Nonna and Nonno's house, beside the jacuzzi where we had played the day before. He was dew soaked, or perhaps tear soaked, if the little bear missed his boy as much as the boy missed the bear. When we walk through the familiar doors of the house, Anthony zips passed his great grandparents to the table, wear Vince waits for him.
"My bear!" He wraps his arms around him, smiling and kissing him. "Mom, my bear? Vince?"
"Yes, you found him."
He doesn't let Vince out of his arms, walking with Nonno around the backyard. He puts him on the chair beside him, shares his water. He tells his bear stories, like the stories I tell him before bedtime. It seems impractical, to drive all that way for a bear. But Anthony loves him, and love like that isn't something that happens every day. We accept no substitutions, no other bears will do.
|Yes, we cloth diaper our boys and bears.|