I was a very shy, quiet kid growing up. I didn't make friends easily, so for a large chunk of my life, I relied on imaginary friends to carry me through. I would say that I don't have imaginary friends anymore, but being a writer of fiction, I technically have many imaginary friends. They're just more diversified now. However, growing up, there is one little friend that I've always remembered the clearest. He was still imaginary, but he was also that stuffed animal that I used to carry around with me everywhere as a child. Haven't we all had one of those? I lost him many times so my parents had to keep buying me new ones, but to be honest, I don't remember the days when I didn't have him. I have sporadic memories of him being fuzzier than normal, and I remember the moments when I got the fresh, plush ones, but I don't remember him ever being gone. As a child, he was like my constant buddy; the one that never left.

His name was Ted. He was a small beanie baby puppy with brown fur all across his top and white fur across his underbelly and legs. His ears were short and pointy, and when you flattened them down on his head, he looked sad. He had a best friend named "Fred". Fred was another beanie baby puppy, but he always seemed to magically create holes in one of his feet, so his beanies were constantly falling out. This mysterious ailment of his crippled him, so Ted would take care of him. Ted was the hero of my little stuffed animal family. He was the one who would protect them all from the evil, grey rat/mouse that would wrap its tail around Ted's throat and drag him around. He would always escape and save the day though. Naturally. I had a lot of fun discovering Ted's story in those days.

But as much fun as I had with Ted, there were bad days with him, too. Though I was shy and quiet at school, I was obnoxious and a little bratty when I was at home. More than once, my older sisters would get fed up with me and seek revenge. The best revenge they ever managed was when they kidnapped Ted, put his head in a glass full of water, then put that water in the freezer. It was a bit of a shock to me when I happened to open the freezer and found my best friend frozen stiff and caked in ice. You got to hand it to my sisters - they were pretty clever. I laugh about that day now, but I remember at the time being very upset. I was without Ted for hours afterwards waiting for him to thaw out. I think I spent the entire time shooting death glares at my sisters. It was a rough day.

I still have Ted, though I don't play with him anymore. He sits on top of my dresser along with the many other stuffed animals I couldn't bear to put in storage. Fred sits beside him so Ted can always keep an eye on him. I could never separate those two.

Though I'm an adult now, Ted is a remnant of my childhood that remains with me. In a lot of ways, what he does for me now hasn't changed. He's now a symbol to me of happy memories and better days. He reminds me of innocence and laughter. When I feel really low, I look at him and remember what it was like to be that carefree and happy. It’s the memories of the good days that can carry us through the bad, and that, I think, is why I kept him. In the moments when things are at their worse, I can look at that weathered little puppy and go back to the days when I used to fly.