Emily Jenkins: Toys Come Home

“Sorry.”

“I say ‘splendiferous’ and you say something else. Then you’re not copying. Try again. How dya do?”

“Blue,” says StingRay. “I’m blue, thank you.”

“You’re still doing it wrong,” says the walrus. “It’s not a question about color. But let’s move on. My name is Bobby Dot. I was a birthday present and I arrived in the middle of an enormous party. The Girl really likes me and she sleeps with me on the high bed.”

“My name is StingRay. I’m a birthday present, too.”

“Stingray’s not your name,” says Bobby Dot. “Stingray’s what you are.”

“StingRay is too my name.”

“Really?” Bobby Dot looks at her, pityingly.

“Yes.” StingRay tries to hold her chin high, but she is wishing she were indeed called Sweetie Pie or Sugar Puff. Or even Sophia.

“Well. We can’t all have real names, I suppose,” says Bobby Dot as he hurls himself up onto the shelf with a thump. “Sheep is just called Sheep.” He makes himself comfortable next to StingRay. “I don’t think you are a birthday present, by the way.”

StingRay is starting to find Bobby Dot unpleasant. “Why not?”

“Birthday presents come at birthday parties.”

“The mommy said I was a birthday present.”

“Well, maybe she said that to make you feel good. But if you were really a birthday present you would have arrived at the party.”

StingRay knows he is right. She heard the people talking about how she’d failed to be at the party.

It is a bad feeling, this failure. Right at the start of everything. So she pretends to know something she does not.

“I’m the Actual Day of Birth Present,” she tells Bobby Dot. “Haven’t you heard of that?”

The walrus draws his tiny bit of chin back toward his neck. “No.”

“Oh.” StingRay gives a shrill laugh. “I thought everybody knew about those! The Actual Day of Birth Present is this very special kind of blue present

that arrives, of course, on the actual day of birth,

not just on the day of the party, which is not very important,

no offense.

And the Actual Day of Birth Present is the present the kid wanted the most,

in her very favorite color,

in the best color in the world,

not walnut brown or anything boring like that,

no offense.

I can’t believe you didn’t know about those.

I thought it was common knowledge.”

StingRay has spoken so convincingly, she almost believes herself. Bobby Dot’s bright new eyes dim slightly, and she feels a puff of satisfaction.

“Let’s move on,” the walrus says. “Here are some things about this house that you might want to learn.”

StingRay sighs. She wishes she could tell Bobby Dot she already knows everything he could even think to tell her, but the truth is, she needs his information. She links her flipper with the one he’s holding out and the two of them hop off the shelf. As they tour the room, the walrus points out important sights and landmarks. “Don’t talk to the people,” he says. “Just stay still and quiet when they’re around. That’s the bookshelf, make sure you put back anything you look at. The Girl pretty much knows about us. I mean, she talks to us. We just don’t talk back. There’s a TV downstairs. You can watch it when they’re gone for the day but not at night because you might wake someone up. The bathroom is off the hall. There are some towels there and in the linen closet, but they keep to themselves, mostly. It’s like a towel club or something. Not very nice. I wouldn’t want to be a member.”

StingRay follows Bobby Dot and remembers everything.

She still doesn’t like him.

The tall rocking horse in the corner can’t get around on his own, Bobby Dot explains, and he doesn’t talk much. True to this description, the horse blinks his eyes and sniffs StingRay’s proffered flipper to say hello, but he doesn’t say “How dya do?” when she does.

A mischief of toy mice, very small in size, run across the floor to the toy box. The mice giggle among themselves and ignore StingRay. They proceed to pull out a box of small wooden blocks and play a lively game, squeaking and pushing the blocks about with their noses to make a maze. They move so fast StingRay cannot even count them.

“Mice!” cries Bobby Dot, clapping his front flippers together with authority.

The mice ignore him.

“I said, Mice!” He claps again.

Still no response.

Bobby Dot heaves his thick body up and down repeatedly, making heavy banging noises on the carpet.

Whomp!

Whomp!

Whomp!

“Mice, pay attention. I am talking to you!”

The mice pause briefly, a couple of them balancing on top of blocks. A plump white one chews on his own tail.

“This is StingRay,” announces the walrus. “She is a marine animal like me. She has come here to stay. Please give her your attention and courtesy.”

“Sheesh,” mutters the plump white mouse. “You’d think he’d lived here forever, the way he acts.”

Whomp! “Tell her ‘How dya do!’ ” shouts Bobby Dot, thumping his body again.

The mice, unafraid but wanting to go back to their game, squeak “How dya do” at StingRay.

“Let’s move on,” says Bobby Dot.

. . . . .

The Girl and her family return in the evening, and when night falls the dad reads a book about a cat and a doll who live in a tree with a large collection of hats. StingRay listens to the story from her spot on the low shelf. Bobby Dot and Sheep are up on the bed where they can see the pictures.

Then the dad turns out the light and sings until the Girl’s eyes fall shut.

The first day is over.

Sheep and Bobby Dot are asleep on the high bed, now. StingRay wants to sleep, too. In fact, she is very sleepy, but she can’t relax, can’t get comfortable on her hard, lonely shelf.

The toy mice emerge and scuttle about. They pull down a book and open it in front of the horse, who rocks gently as he reads in the near-darkness. The mice begin leapfrogging over one another, squeaking softly. Every now and then the plump white mouse scoots over and flips a page in the horse’s book.

StingRay thinks about going down the hall to meet the towels, but she is nervous that they won’t be friendly, after what Bobby Dot said.

She also isn’t sure what a towel is.

What if it has sharp teeth?

What if it has angry claws?

What if the vicious towels become enraged when a plush stingray tries to join their private conversation?

They might rip her to shreds and eat her for dinner. Or jump on her with their huge, hairy feet

until she’s completely flat,

then hang her on their wall for decoration.

She stays where she is.

After a while, the rocking horse shuts its long-lashed eyes and the toy mice scuttle under the bookshelf to go to bed. StingRay flops down and peers under the shelf at their shining eyes. Maybe she could get to sleep if she slept with them! All one on top of the other like in the dream about the box of other stingrays.

“Hi,” she whispers.

“Oh. Hello there, marine animal!” shouts one mouse. “We’re going to bed now. Night-night!”

“I was wondering. Could I sleep with you?” says StingRay. It is hard for her to ask. She chokes out the words.

“Sure!” cries the mouse. “Come on in!”

So StingRay, feeling awkward and grateful, tries to shove her big plushy body into the narrow flat space beneath the bookshelf.

One flipper goes in. And the tip of her nose.

“We’ll push you!” cries a mouse.

They swarm out from underneath the shelf and begin pushing StingRay with their hard little mouse noses.

They grunt with the effort.

The rest of StingRay’s nose goes in, plus some more flipper. “There!” cries one mouse.