For the Love of Rolo

         Little Jamie Knolls sat pawing at his bruised and battered teddy bear.  At five and a quarter years old -- the quarter being very important of course –- he could still love his cuddlesome toy.

         The bear had been a present on his third birthday, from a friend of the family and gained the name “Rolo”, a tribute to his favourite treat, thanks to its deep, chocolate brown colour.  The fact it had been played with every day since their introduction, meant it looked a little gaunt; a stark contrast to the plush, plump form it once boasted. 

         In a moment of sheer frustration, the night before, he pulled one of its eyes out and threw it across the room.  The gesture worked and his mother gave in and offered him “just one biscuit”, by way of a compromise. 

         He sat trying to fix this very injury.

         In his hand lay the replacement eye.  He pushed his tongue through his pursed lips, curling it to the side and up hard toward his nose.  He squeezed the contents of a tube of toothpaste over the back of the orb; his own eyes squinting; the pupils fixed on the job at hand. 

         “Jamie, is everything OK, sweetheart?” his mother shouted up the stairs.

         “Yeah,” he replied, hoping she wouldn't come up the stairs to discover his actions, “I'm playing with Rolo.”

         “Is your sister OK?” she enquired.

         He scanned his eyes over his little sister, as she lay at the top of the bed.

         His voice lowered: “she's sleeping.”

         “OK.  I won't be long.  If she wakes up give her a bottle.”  She returned to impressing her visitors with stories of her last vacation; bragging about the temperatures and lifting out a pile of photographs so big, they would have bored even the most eager of participants.

         Dolls of varying sizes and styles lay discarded on the bottom of the bed; they all shared one trait: their eye sockets lay empty.  Some of the eyes had been too small; others too big. 

                   There would be trouble; he knew that.  His mother wouldn't be happy and he might get a smack.  The thought created a wrinkle on his forehead; it soon disappeared.  He'd clean up when he finished.

                   
         Jamie returned to playing doctor.  The stickiness of the toothpaste on the back of the eye made it easy to grip, and he pushed it, tight, into the empty socket of his beloved toy; his features again stiff and concentrated.

         He hadn't given much thought as to how it would work, or if it even would.  He just knew it was a good idea to put another eye in the hole.  Remnants of the old one still clung to the wallpaper in the living room. 

         The nail of his thumb shone a brilliant white, as he pressed the orb hard, into the makeshift glue.  He broke the silence and  exhaled, his tongue relaxing.  He appraised his efforts. 


         He grinned; his eyes widening and his little white teeth sparkling as his lips stretched across his face; the corners of his mouth pushing into his cheeks.  His contentment didn't last.  It rarely does in five... and a quarter year old boys. 

         He jumped off the end of the bed and raced to the bathroom.  As he stood on the step in front of the toilet, going about his business, raucous laughter from downstairs caught his attention.  Mummy isn't going to be pleased.

         Running back into the bedroom, he went straight back to the bear, hoping for the best.  He lifted Rolo and gasped as the eye moved a little; it didn't fall out and he sighed.  The glue worked.  Rolo could see again.  He hugged the bear, closing his eyes to heighten the effect. 

         “It worked!”

         He walked over to the other side of the room and placed Rolo on an empty patch of carpet.  Rolo needed time to rest; the glue needed to harden properly.

         On a portable Television, atop his chest-of-drawers, the theme music to He-Man played.  Jamie's eyes darted to the screen and he stood up and began playing with an imaginary sword; his voice echoed the lyrics: “By The Power Of Greyskull”.

         He leapt toward the TV, threw himself down in front of it and sat cross-legged; his pupils fixed to the screen. 

         Downstairs, Sheila Knolls passed photographs around the room, each person taking it in turn to laugh, sigh, gasp or confess their jealousy, dependant on the photo they'd just been passed. 
Sheila revelled in the attention, her eyes agape and sparkling under the glare of the living room lights; her grin stretched across the smooth skin of her cheeks, reminding anyone who cared to notice, how young she looked for her 39 years.

         The laughter lines and crows feet had been removed last year, another extravagance her husband's high paid job had allowed.  A low-cut top highlighted another of her indulgences; her breasts hung firm  -- too firm some would argue – and large – too large some would argue – for her petite build. 

         “Everyone OK for tea?”  she asked, ever the dutiful host.
“Biscuits, cake, sandwiches,” she continued, “They'll only go to waste, might as well finish them off.” 

         Joanne Marshall, a rather plump and older lady, reached out a hand and took another slice of cake.  “You twisted my arm.”  She giggled and group joined in.

         As Jamie sat on the carpet, his hands still risen in front of him, playing with his invisible sword, he couldn't help but shift his stare back to his favourite soft toy. 

         The eye didn't look right; he fidgeted.  Rolo no longer looked like Rolo.  He cringed a little and returned his attentions to the TV.

         He-Man ended and the credits filled the screen; Jamie leapt to his feet and again mimicked the movements of hero, trying to sing along with the theme music, where he remembered the words.

         The bear with unmatched eyes gained his attention.  Jamie glared at the toy that used to be Rolo, his bottom lip trembling.  He edged across the room.  He reached out a hand, in hesitation.  With a moment of bravery he lifted the bear and threw it as hard as he could in the direction of the bed.  It landed next to Samantha.  She didn't stir. He turned his back on what had once been his friend and headed for the toy box. 

         The box lay full to the top with various action figures, colouring books and odds and ends.  He reached inside and wrapped his fingers around the stray arm of a plastic He-man figure.  My new favourite toy.  He Smiled and searched for the dreaded enemy: Skeletor.

         The front door closed; Sheila walked back into the living room, lifting plates, cups and stray items of food onto a tray. 
She lifted the tray, balancing it in her arms with care, and walked into the kitchen.  The washing-up could wait.

         Heading back through the living room, she started to ascend the stairs, enjoying the feel of the plush, white carpet against the bare soles of her feet.

         “Is everything OK, Jamie?”  She called, from about half way up the stairs.

No answer.  Probably sleeping.

         She stopped at the top of the stairs, taking just long enough to lift a piece of fluff from the carpet.  That's the problem with white carpet, it shows up everything.  She remembered the words of her mother, upon first seeing the carpet, her attentions drawn to the imperfections.

         Sheila opened the bedroom door and tip-toed inside.  Her jaw dropped; her eyes stretching beyond capacity.  Her whole body froze.

         Jamie sat in the middle of the carpet, He-man in one hand and Skeletor in the other; mid battle.  He looked up at his mother without a word.  He remembered the dolls and how he'd meant to clean up.  He followed the line of his mothers sight and appraised the scene.

         Laying, somewhat peacefully, on the bed, little Samantha Knolls had one eye -- the right one -- the other missing from the socket completely; congealed blood filled the gap.  Above the missing eye, a large purple and black patch of skin glared from the top of her forehead; the middle of which contained a small puncture wound.  Her dried blood still lingered on the corner of the headboard. 

         Jamie looked back at his mother.  Her jaws twitched; her hands trembled; her eyes looked like they would pop from their sockets. 

         “Sorry mummy.” 

         She didn't reply. 

         He watched as her eyes edged toward him.  Her features scared him.  Her lips quivered, as she tried to speak.  She remained silent.  Her eyes locked with his.  I'm in trouble now.

         He saw tears form in her eyes and trail down over her cheeks just as the rain would, over the windows, when he wasn't allowed outside to play in it.  Her brow furrowed; eyes squinting; words threatening to form on her lips. 

         As Jamie watched on, his mother collapsed to the floor.  I'm really in trouble.




THE END.