(Spotlight on. You sit on the edge of your bed, a solemn expression on your face. In your hands, a small stuffed bear with slightly matted fur, a relic of something from the past. You take a deep breath and begin, voice soft but serious.)
Hey, buddy. Hey, little guy.
You got a second?
Listen, um… I don’t really know how to say this, but… your father’s gone. He—he left us.
(Pause. Deep breath.)
I know, I know. I thought he’d stay too. I thought he loved us. I mean, he used to hold you at night. Used to squeeze you when he couldn’t quite squeeze me. Remember when he won you at that stupid claw machine and said, “Look, now you’ll always have a piece of me”? Yeah, well, none of that was true.
(Stands up from edge of bed, walks towards center of stage. Bear still in hand. Spotlight follows.)
I guess I should’ve seen the signs. We were always somewhere in between. I pick and choose the signs to see.
And now, here we are. Just you and me, kid. Just like your grandmother always said: “Men will leave, but stuffed animals are forever.”
(You hold the bear up, looking into its beady plastic eyes. Voice thick with mock emotion.)
I didn’t want to tell you about this information, I mean, what kind of parent would I be to burden the kid with things like this? It is not your fault. I won’t punish you for what he did.
But don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take care of you. I’ll provide. I’ll make sure you have a nice spot on my bed. We’ll make something up for the other stuffed animals at school. My love won’t be flaky.
(Beat. You pat its little head.)
This is not his story, this is ours. We don’t need him. We’ll be okay. And if not… well, at least you’re machine washable.
(Blackout.)