To the world, he was just another yellow thing full of beanies. To me, he was Stuffy, and he'd been a family member ever since ... I got him. No, I don't know the exact date, or even year, it's a stuffed smiley thing for goodness' sakes. What am I, a kook? You think I should be holding birthday parties or something?
Anyway...
Stuffy lived, for some time, in my car. I'd tucked his little yellow behind in the junk-holder that sits at the head of the console, and there he sat, in relative safety (except for a few sharp turns) for a very long time.
Stuffy's presence in the car was a happy thing. Anytime I looked at him I had to smile. It was only polite since he was smiling at me. Truly, his cheery face was, well, cheering.
But then came the dreadful day when I suddenly realized Stuffy was no longer in his usual place. A quick search of the vehicle confirmed the worst. Stuffy was gone! He'd been snatched! Taken! And Liam Neeson was nowhere in sight.
I barely got my eight hours sleep in that night. (Oh, those days before insomnia -- but that's another, and in many ways sadder, story.) Struggling through the next day I thought of the poor little fellow every time I got into my car and he wasn't there. What could have happened to him??
I knew one thing for sure. He hadn't fallen out. Not unless gravity had taken a few minutes off. No, Stuffy had become a statistic, a victim of foul play. And yet, somehow, I just knew that, wherever he was, he was smiling bravely through his ordeal. That's the kind of guy Stuff is.
A day or two passed while all I could do was hope things were okay for the little guy--that whoever had taken him was treating him with kindness. I was reasonably certain he wasn't hungry or afraid--but that was just a hunch.
And then it came. The letter, cryptically penciled on a sheet of paper, along with a Polaroid snapshot, proof that the message was legit and Stuffy was indeed at the mercy of whomever had written it.
At least he wasn't being starved. The abductor had provided Stuffy with a Ritz cracker, which, nutritional needs aside, I suppose was better than nothing. I convinced myself he'd been allowed to keep it even after the photo was taken. Which, I will point out, Stuffy smiled for as bravely as he'd ever smiled before.
The letter was written, I believe, in a deliberate attempt to throw me off track. Someone had taken care to make it look as though I was dealing with an elementary student, but I wasn't convinced. How many kids in those grades own their own handcuffs? Nope, I wasn't falling for it.
The message read: "IF U coPrate it'd be sum better fer yer frend IF U do what I tell U."
Sure I'd "coPrate" to get my "frend" back. But what did this nefarious napper want? There was no ransom demand, no directive to go somewhere specific and wait for instructions. I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being toyed with for some crueler purpose.
Days passed. I fretted and waited, wondering if I'd ever see my beloved Stuffy again. Well, besides in the photo. I thought of all the things we'd done together that we may never get a chance to do again. To be honest, there weren't that many, but still... I knew if only I got another chance, I'd spend more time with him, treat him with greater consideration, smile back at him more often!
More days passed. Until, just as hope was fading; just as I'd begun to think I may never learn anything more of his fate, a second message came. And a second photo, even darker than the first.
So. There he was, in a compromising position with some floozy -- not that I believed for a minute he'd crawled under the covers with her on his own. Stuffy had always been a gentleman. Clearly, the dame had enticed him, drawn him in with wiles he'd never had to deal with before.
MY opinion of my 'frend' Stuffy was untarnished. But what of his reputation? The new message made it clear the heartless villain who'd framed him was only too capable of spreading this character-destroying story if these demands were not met.
All the while, I had my suspicions as to who had committed this dark deed. But I had no proof. Nothing I could take to the proper authorities.
I was between the proverbial rock and hard place. If I paid up, I'd be putting myself at the mercy of a blackmailer. If I refused to shell over the $$s, who knew?
As I struggled with this terrible dilemma, some smidgen of conscience must have been at play in the monster's cold heart. If that was true, I like to think Stuffy's trusting smile played a role. Or perhaps their nerve had begun to fail. All I know for certain is that, as suddenly as he'd disappeared, Stuffy was back. The nightmare had ended.
And yet we are left with so many questions, and so many terrifying thoughts of "what if?"
It may never be truly over.
