Bear Cub

To an outsider we probably looked odd, two bears with a half-grown cub and a human child nestled between them but to me this was home. They’d probably compare me to Mowgli or Tarzan but I was nothing like them. I wasn’t raised by these bears, I was raised by wolves. 

Wolves in jeans and shirts that snarl and threaten to bite. Wolves who lived in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and tried to make me just like them. Wolves that shaved my hair, that tried to teach me to use a rifle and used threats to get me to behave but threats didn’t matter in the end.

I always felt like a caged wild animal even before. Always curled up into a corner, people shouting things at me I didn’t understand. 

I had just turned eight, a slice of chocolate cake still in the fridge and a brand new comic book clutched in my hands. He’d come in yelling even though I was just trying to keep to myself. I couldn’t even understand what he was saying and he knew that. I tried to run but he was faster, stronger. His hand gripped my arm and no matter how much I wiggled and squirmed, I couldn’t escape.

Even before they took me in I had always liked bears. Bears were bigger, stronger. even more than him. If I was a bear he would be the one who was afraid, not me.

At first I thought I was imagining it ,even as I pictured brown fur sprouting from my skin I could feel myself getting warmer, my clothes getting tighter. Then the soft vibrations in my throat deepened into a rumble that echoed from my chest. The fingers around my wrist loosened. I opened my eyes and toppled forwards.

Everything looked strange, inside was muted and muddy but the outside was bright, I could see clearer in the dark than I ever could before. It looked so open, so freeing. This was my chance. 

I didn’t even spare a glance at the cowering figure in front of me, I just ran.

I used to be scared of the woods surrounding my house, even in the daylight but I wasn’t afraid now. I was big and strong now, nothing here could hurt me, I was free. The soft night air brushed against my fur, my footsteps heavy against the forest floor. I could see so much more in the dark, every leaf on every tree, every owl that flew above my head, all the pine needles under my feet but I still couldn’t hear the crunch they made, couldn’t hear the screeches of night life. I read somewhere that bears had enhanced senses, especially hearing but I guess you can’t enhance something that isn’t there anymore.

That’s probably why I couldn’t hear them, the growls from the other bears. Growls that warned me I was entering their territory. But when I saw them, it was already too late. They were all so much bigger than me, scarier and hairier than they looked on tv. All except for one, a baby bear- a bear… cub probably the same size as me now. He was nestled in between two other bears, the only ones not growling and snarling. He watched me with half open eyes, he didn’t know I wasn’t one of them, he couldn’t smell the human on me, he couldn’t see the ripped t-shirt still partially draped around me, to him I was another bear cub, a potential play mate. The beasts surrounding me could, large snouts sniffing over me, growls so loud I could feel them vibrate against my fur. I ran right out of one den and into another.

I braced myself for razor sharp teeth and closed my eyes but nothing, even the growls around me stilled. Then I felt teeth softly grip the scruff of my neck, lifting me up. I slowly opened one eye, the bear cub was leaning against one parent now. The maw of the other was carrying me through crowds of bears before she gently dropped me beside him before lying down next to me. I lay frozen, watching the other bears but they just walked away slinking to their own places on the forest floor. It wasn’t long before I felt snores rumbling from either side of me and soon my eyes drooped and I drifted away too. 

As each day slumped into night and each night brightened into a new day, I slowly started to forget what it was like to be human. A shirt I was so excited about only weeks ago lay torn and forgotten among trampled wild flowers. Mornings once spent in a cramped brick room with people who didn’t know how to teach me were spent in the river splashing around with Bubba. As the sun drifted across the sky, we moved to the river bank, curled around each other, fur drying in the sun like true brothers.

It took a while to get used to raw fish, my stomach was still human after all but anything beat microwave dinners especially when I remembered this fish was caught just for me. Here we hunted for survival, not trophies to hang on the wall. 

As days drew shorter, I noticed we were no longer camping with the other bears anymore. I tried to ask Mama (I could talk with just a look and furrow of my brows now) but she just looked back at me with soft eyes and pushed me playfully with her snout in a way that said “Don’t worry about it”

When autumn came, I started to feel myself slipping. It was only when I woke up one night shivering, no fur to cover me and Papa’s paw thrown over me for warmth that I realised I’d changed back. As winter came, I could only be a bear for a couple hours a day and my fur was replaced by thick, itchy clothes stolen off somebody’s washing line. They even found me a pair of boots that rubbed my toes and a bulky winter jacket that made it impossible to climb trees. 

Food was scarce even for them and especially for me, I couldn’t stomach raw meat anymore. I lived off stale bread I found in the dumpsters behind the bakery that made my birthday cake all those months ago. They lived off whatever creatures they could find scurrying through the snow and they refused to hibernate because I couldn’t. 

I understood their devotion to me when I was still a bear but I was human now yet they still clung to me, still let me sleep in between them and their real cub, found me food when it was too cold for me to leave the cave, they looked after me. 

They still saw me as a bear yet everyday I felt more and more like I was just pretending. 

When spring came we started to move, every night a new field, every day a new part of the river with different flowers growing along the river bank. I tried to stay positive even as the weather grew warmer and I grew stronger and my fur refused to grow back. I decided to embrace it. I made flower crowns and placed them on Mama’s head. I found a cheap plastic ukulele when I was looking for summer clothes and I played it for them under the moonlight. I swear when I played the notes just right they looked at me like they could understand me but it wasn’t the same.

One afternoon when spring was slowly starting to burn into summer I was sitting in a grove of trees just out of view of the river leaning against a pine tree, Bubba’s head in my lap as we shared a sprig of berries.Then I saw him just casually strolling through the woods, he was probably my age, with pale skin covered in bandaids and freckles and curly brown hair. I’ve seen other humans before, even after I couldn’t be a bear anymore but as soon as they saw my now rather large brother they’d turn and run. He froze when he saw us but there was no fear in this boy’s eyes now, just curiosity. He tried to say something but I ignored him, I didn’t even try to read his lips. When he eventually ran away I felt my stomach turn. It was a familiar feeling, he was going for help, help I didn’t need. 

We needed to leave.

I tried to get up but Bubba's head stayed heavy, keeping me down. I felt him rumble a familiar growl against my leg and I turned to see Mama and Papa trudge up from the river. They didn’t urge us up, they didn't urge us to run, they just looked at each other sorrowfully.

What were they doing? 

We had to go. Now!

Then I felt footsteps, heavy, sturdy, a grown-up. It was too late.

As Bubba’s head lifted off my lap, I scrambled to my feet and twisted around to face the new intruder. He was tall with dark skin and hair almost as long as mine, braided and strung with gold and silver beads. He looked kind and gentle but that didn’t make me want to go with him.

I tried to turn to run away but Bubba stood strong in front of me, he gently shoved me forwards, away from him, away from my family.

Why were they trying to get rid of me?

I tried to scream, to growl, to do something but my throat was scratchy, my voice probably hoarse from months of disuse.

Was it because I wasn’t a bear anymore? I could do it, I could be a bear again. I willed for my fur to grow but only clumps grew, lasting seconds before falling out.

I could make them listen, I frantically pulled at my ukulele from where it was strapped to my back but Mama gently nudged my fingers away from the strings, she didn’t even want to hear what I had to say. It was no use, they weren’t going to listen, this was always the destination. I collapsed to the ground and I sobbed. I felt Papa’s snout against my face, licking away my tears then I felt human arms gently pulling me away from him. Soft words were spoken against my ear and although I couldn’t hear them I knew they were kind. 

When I finally opened my eyes again, the bears were gone but that boy was standing there. He was saying something, I couldn’t hear it. I think he was saying sorry. 

I was led into a house with wooden floors and wallpaper on the walls. The food was warm and yet I yearned for cold raw fish. My room was smaller than the forest but it was comfortable. They gave me clothes that were soft and clean. The kind man washed my hair, he didn’t cut it, he brushed out the tangles and braided it.

The house was filled with other kids like me, unusual but gifted. Jamie could make plants grow from just the palm of his hand and had a gecko living in his pocket. Ruth could make objects float but she mostly used her ability so that she could read and eat cereal at the same time. 

It took a while for me to get used to this life, it was peaceful, I couldn’t shift, I still couldn’t hear but I was learning a new way to communicate. I finally felt like I somewhat belonged.

By the time autumn approached again, I’d forgotten what it was even like to be a bear. One afternoon as the cool autumn wind scraped against my cheeks, I ventured back into the woods for the first time, my ukulele (now older, slightly scratched and decorated with glitter stickers placed there by a pyrokinetic toddler) strapped to my back. As the cords vibrated gently against my fingers, I felt myself lulled into the music. I almost didn’t notice the familiar footsteps patter across the forest floor.