The Beary Brave Night Guard

Trees whizzed by in a great green blur as Aunt Marsha sped down Highway 6 toward school. I don’t know why Aunt Marsha took us to school, but her driving was entertaining enough that I never questioned it. Maybe Dad had to go to work early. I don’t even know if Mom worked. Megan, my older sister, sat in the front seat. Matt, my older brother, sat beside me. They were bickering while Martha, my little sister, slept by my other side. I always ended up in the middle. Hailey and Emily, my two cousins, sat in the van’s middle row, each staring out the windows in opposite directions. It was hot. School had just started, and the routine, although practiced in previous years, felt new to all of us. No one likes to wake up early, especially not in my family. The car smelled of dried vomit. Some unknown substance had dried in the cupholder, brown and sticky, and the carpet wasn’t much better.

Matt and Megan were loud. I don’t know what they were arguing about.

“Please shut up!” I shouted.

They paused.

Megan’s fierce eyes locked with mine in the rearview. She mumbled something incoherently. Only one word stood out. A word I had never heard before.

Divorce.

“What was that?” My Aunt Marsha barked.

Megan, in her signature brave attitude, puffed out her chest. “I said that Steve and Mom are getting a divorce.” She repeated.

Aunt Marsha smacked her leg. “You shut your mouth, you don’t know that!” She glanced back at me, her expression full of worry.

The rest of the drive to school was quiet.

My art teacher was my friend, I think. If not my friend, I could at least tell that she cared about me. I sat at the table drawing. I had been working on a majestic tree for a few days now. Mrs. Thornberry wanted me to hurry, to move on to other projects, but the tree had many branches, many twigs, many leaves, and all deserved my equal attention.

Mrs. Thornberry sat down next to me. She had long, curly red hair pulled back into a messy bun, with a few pencils and paintbrushes hidden within it. With concerned green eyes, she surveyed my work.

“It’s coming together nicely, isn’t it?” She asked.

I nodded.

She paused. “Are you all right, Jeffery?”

I nodded again.

“You’ve been unusually quiet.”

My friend, Ashton, chimed in from across the table. “He has!”

“Shh,” Mrs. Thornberry scolded him. “Are you sure that you’re all right, Jeffery?”

I stopped my masterpiece mid-branch.

“Mrs. Thornberry?”

“Yes?”

“What is divorce?”

“I-I-,” she stuttered, taken aback by the question. “I . . . uh, well, that’s a rather complex question.”

Turning to her, I frowned. At only nine years old, I knew an avoidant adult when I saw one. “I can handle it.”

She shook her head. “Whatever made you ask that?”

“My sister said it today on the way to school.”

“I see . . .” She thought for a moment, looking up toward the ceiling contemplatively, as is her peculiar way. “I think you should ask your parents about it.”

“Oh . . .”

She patted me on the back. “All the same, if you ever need to talk, I’m here for you. If not me, the school counselors are good listeners.”

I didn’t want to ask Dad. Something told me to avoid asking Mom. I resumed my work, one branch, one twig, one leaf at a time.

On the bus-ride home, as my head vibrated against the cold glass, I asked Ashton about it.

“Do you know what divorce is?”

He shrugged. “Not really. Saw something about it in a movie once.”

“Yeah? What happened?”

Ashton turned off his Gameboy. He’d been playing Pokemon Emerald, his favorite. I liked Pokemon Yellow more. Pixels are pretty.

“I didn’t really pay attention, but I think it had something to do with someone’s parents breaking up.”

My eyes opened wide as I shot up involuntarily, my heart fluttering with a desperation that I can’t quite describe. “Is that even possible?! Parents can break up?!”

He glanced at me, bemused. “Of course they can. They’re just people. My parents broke up when I was three. It happens.”

I’d been broken up with before. A little blonde girl named Whitney and I were boyfriend and girlfriend (to the extent that anyone in elementary school can be). She stopped liking me when another boy named Tyler beat me in a race around the playground. I ran hard, but I slipped and tore my new jeans. Not only did I lose my girl, but my Momma yelled at me too. Is that what was happening? Had Dad lost at a race and now they’re breaking up? Surely not. No one can beat Dad at anything. He’s unstoppable!

Maybe Mom had done something? Surely not. If she did something stupid, Dad would forgive her. If she did something nasty like picking her nose, Dad would just tell her to wash her hands.

They’re inseparable, aren’t they? I thought.

That night, Dad came in to tuck me and Martha into bed. He looked so sad as he sat on our bedside.

“Dad?” I said.

“Yes, son?”

“I feel like I’ll have a nightmare tonight.”

He turned his head, raising an eyebrow. “Is that so?”

I nodded, pulling the blankets a little higher. He put his hand on my head and ruffled my hair. “Not if I have anything to say about it. Where’s your Bible?”

I reached under my pillow. “Right here, where you said to put it.”

“Good,” he smiled. He told me to keep my Bible close when I slept. He said it’d protect me. “How about Beary?”

“He’s by the door with the others,” I responded.

“Why?” Dad asked, smiling as he went to retrieve him. Beary was a gift from my grandmother, Bobo. I’d had him as long as I could remember. Brown, scraggly fur, two black beads for eyes, and a pink yarn nose. He was the bravest little bear that I ever saw, leading the pack of stuffed alligators and lizards and smaller bears into battle whenever we’d play. He even lead my plastic green soldiers from time to time. Underneath his leadership, none of the evil Lincoln-Log monstrosities ever prevailed.

“I was playing,” I lied, feeling childish shame. In reality, I’d placed him and the others by the door to protect the room from whatever made my heart feel so heavy.

“Be careful where you play, someone could’ve tripped and gotten hurt,” Dad scolded gently, giving Beary to me. I held him tightly.

“Yes sir.”

“Good.”

Martha yawned. “Daddy, can you tell us a bedtime story?”

I’d never admit it, but I loved his bedtime stories.

“Sure, honey,” he replied, “Once upon a time, there were two siblings. A young, brave redhaired prince and a beautiful, intelligent redhaired princess. They lived in the Edisto swamps peacefully until, one day, while they were out fishing, the Moss Monkey attacked! He stole the princess away into the trees, intending to turn her into his bride!”

“Yucky!” Martha yawned.

“The prince donned his golden sword and chased after the beast, climbing high into the trees . . .”

I began to drift to sleep, my dad still recounting the heroic tale of the redhaired royalty.

“Is he asleep?”

“Yes sir! The Charge is out!”

“Good, the night is nigh. Get me my cape and sword!” Beary carefully crawled out from underneath Jeffery’s arm. The boy snored loudly, his body twitching. Beary knew what caused that twitch.

Jeffery was afraid.

“Here you go, sir!” A small stuffed alligator slung a purple cape around Beary’s soft shoulders, then handed him a broadsword with a golden-hilt.

“Thank you, Irwin. Have the defenses held?” Beary asked.

“For now, yes,” Irwin responded. The duo turned toward the door. A soft beating came from the other side as something tried to get in. Other stuffed animals, namely a skunk, a lizard, and a dog, held the door with their shoulders. Their expressions told of desperation, surely they could not hold for much longer. Around fifty armed plastic soldiers, each only an inch or two tall, filled the gaps around the animals, completely useless against the door.

“Join them, Irwin. That door must hold, for our Charge’s sake,” he gazed upon the boy’s young face. He had a bright red mop of hair, just like Dad, and a face covered in freckles. He’d gotten a bit chubby, but you’d never know it by the way that he played. He couldn’t sit still for long unless he was drawing. Beary, as his squire, knew the ins and outs of war. Bobo, the Grandmother, had assigned Beary to the boy when he was still very young. Since that day at the general store, Beary had protected the boy with his life, down to his last stuffing. “I will join you shortly.”

“Yes sir,” Irwin responded, hopping off the low bed and rushing toward the door.

Beary turned his attention to the boy’s pillow. Reaching underneath, he carefully gathered the Bible beneath. It had a leather cover with the boy’s name engraved along its bottom. Jeffery liked to read, but had yet to finish the whole thing. Beary, however, had read it through multiple times. He placed a furry paw on its cover and lifted his beady eyes to the ceiling, “Lord, be with my Charge in his fears. Protect him in his dreams where I cannot. By my stuffing I serve thee, guide this fight tonight to thy will. Amen.” Solemnly, Beary returned the book to Jeffery’s pillow. With one last look at his Charge, he hopped off the bed and rushed toward the door just as the barricade failed.

Fist-sized creatures made of dust rushed in. Each nightmarish conglomeration held a strange similarity to a ravenous bunny. They stampeded forward by the hundreds, hopping over one other as they poured in from the dark hallway outside. Wielding wooden Lincoln-Logs in pawed hands, they slammed against the defensive line.

“For the Charge!” Beary shouted, drawing his sword as he ran to meet them.

“Ahh!” A great rallying cry went up from the alliance of stuffed animals and plastic soldiers, who, having been pushed back by the initial onslaught, countercharged the nightmares.

The Skunk readied its tail, peltering the Dust Bunnies with stinky gas. The Dust Bunnies, having come from areas of poor air quality, did not slow. The Lizard climbed the wall, sticking to it with suction-cup fingers, and shot out a long tongue to lap up one of the Dust Bunnies. The thing hissed as he ate it, coughing at the dusty meal. The Dog barked furiously, tail wagging. Beary was unsure if the Dog understood the trouble that they were in. Irwin sliced with long claws and whipped bunnies away with his thick tail. Nevertheless, he was surrounded. The plastic soldiers held key points along the flank, hiding behind tiny plastic sandbags with mounted guns. Their weapons, albeit plastic, more than made up for their small stature by carving through the Dust Bunny nightmares.

Beary charged the nearest bunny, running it through with his sword. Another came, and he carved through it. Then another. Then another. Then two more. His expertise in swordplay shone brightly in the battlefield, sending fear through the nightmarish ranks. A particularly large Dust Bunny rushed him, bringing down its Lincoln-Log club in a mighty blow. Beary, agile as a fox and twice as smart, dodged to the side, rolling to a stand as he stuck the tip of his blade into the Dust Bunny. It dissipated in a soft poof.

“There’s too many of them, sir! They’re outflanking us!” Irwin shouted.

Beary surveyed the battlefield briefly. The bunnies had broken through the flanks, spreading out along the wall under the dresser. Martha, secure behind a wall of books, sat undisturbed by the battle that now covered the entirety of the bedroom floor. Jeffery, however, was in danger. Dust Bunnies had reached the legs of his bed, beginning the long climb upward. Beary turned and ran back toward him, “Retreat! Fall back to the bed!”

The few plastic soldiers that still stood began a strategic retreat, firing over one another with desperation as the Dust Bunnies covered the ground with dirt. The Lizard lay unconscious, having coughed himself into a deep nap. The Skunk lay curled into a ball, plugging its own nose. The nightmares may be immune to the stench, but the Skunk was not. The Dog had run off, one of the Dust Bunnies having accidentally knocked a discarded tennis ball into the hallway, the Dog in tow. Irwin fought alongside Beary, but fell as they struggled to climb the bed covers.

Finally atop the bed, Beary found himself alone against a seemingly unending army of ferocious Dust Bunnies. Fear filled his fluffy heart, but he was determined to never let his beady eyes betray it. He glanced at the slumbering boy. He was so peaceful. So comfortable. His chest rose and fell rhythmically. Moonlight drifted in through a nearby window. Something reflected near the edge of his pillow. The Bible, Beary realized. The light thereof filled him with hope.

“By my fluff, you will not be harmed,” he promised, turning toward the encroaching nightmare, sword at the ready.

As the Dust Bunnies rose above the bed frame, Beary cried out, bringing his golden sword down upon them.

By the time that he finally prevailed, the moon had begun to set and the sun to rise. The bedroom was bathed in the soft gray glows of pre-morning as the final Dust Bunny fell. Beary, covered in dust and small cuts, breathed heavily, clutching a tear in his side to keep the fluff from falling out.

“Sir? Are you alive up there?” A voice called.

“Irwin?! I thought you were dead!”

The alligator hopped atop the covers. “No sir. Those jerks took me under the bed, but I got them in the end!”

Beary laughed, pulling his friend into a tight hug.

“The battle is won,” Irwin sighed.

But Beary saw that it was not. A single clump of dust stood atop the pillow near Jeffery’s ear. It whispered something to him. Pushing Irwin aside, Beary charged the creature, driving his sword through its midsection. It evaporated into a cloud of dust.

“Crickey!” Irwin croaked. “How did he get past us?!”

Beary shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What was it doing?” Irwin asked.

“I’m not sure. I couldn’t hear the whole thing. Something mean, I’m sure. Something that started with the letter d.”

“Odd. Whatever could it be?”

Beary shook his head, confused. “Where did they all come from? I’ve never seen so many . . .”

Irwin frowned. “Our scouts report that they came from the living room, sir. Someone else’s nightmare.”

“Someone else?” Beary turned to face his friend. “How can someone else’s nightmares cause such turmoil?

“I’m not sure, sir.”

“Who’s was it?”

Irwin shrugged. “Our scouts think it was Dad. He slept on the couch last night.”

“The couch?” Beary exclaimed. “What on earth for?”

“I’m not sure, sir. I’m just a stuffed alligator.”

Beary nodded. “Fair enough . . . it’s just so . . . curious.”

“Agreed, sir.”

On the floor, plastic soldiers began picking themselves back up, limping to their positions. Skunk, Dog, and Lizard returned to their seats by the door. Irwin, after a few minutes of silent contemplation, left for his spot as well. It was Beary who stood guard the longest, watching the door with a fierce stare. As the sun crested the horizon, he lay beside his Charge.

D? D? What could it mean?

Beary did not want to sleep, but he had no choice. He had done his job, defending his Charge throughout the night. It was up to the parents now. They must defend him during the day. Surely, they could be trusted.

Beary, the brave bear, rested.

That night, as the family ate dinner uncharacteristically scattered around the living room, Mom absent, Dad had some bad news.