Emily Jenkins - Toys Come Home

Still no answer.

It is a stranger dolly.

The Girl stops before a small plastic tiger with an angry, almost sour-looking face. “Excuse me,” whispers StingRay. “May I offer a helpful tip?”

No answer.

StingRay persists, still whispering: “You might want to look a little more adorable. The goal is to make my girl want to take you home. Not to scare the socks off her with your angry toothy tiger mouth. You have to make yourself as lovable as possible. Look!”

StingRay makes her most lovable face.

No answer from the tiger.

As StingRay looks around the shop, all the toys seem asleep. Nobody moves or smiles or blinks.

The Girl touches a cuddly soft goldfish, its lips pursed in a kissy-face, its plush a sunny yellow.

(Oh! StingRay hopes the Girl won’t get another fish. She wants to be the only fish.)

The Girl moves along and touches a white seagull with orange feet, plump and dapper.

(Now that she thinks of it, StingRay hopes the Girl won’t get any marine animal. She wants to be the only marine animal.)

The Girl touches a floopy gray elephant.

(Truth be told, StingRay hopes the Girl won’t get a plush creature of any kind. She wants to be the only plush creature.)

The Girl should get some dominoes, thinks StingRay. Or a board game. Or a puzzle. That way StingRay will only have to share specialness and cuddles with Sheep, who really isn’t that cuddly anyway.

The Girl touches a—what is it? The chocolate brown tail of Something. The Something is buried in a large pile of pink-and-white teddy bears who are staring at the ceiling, inanimate. StingRay can only see the tail of the thing, and a bit of its backside. Nothing else.

The Girl pats the tail.

And the tail waggles.

StingRay is sure she saw it waggle.

When she looks at the Girl’s shining face, she thinks maybe the Girl saw it, too.

The Girl reaches her soft hand into the pile of teddies and StingRay twists her neck to get a better look. Out comes a burly, chocolaty buffalo. His nose is twitching just the tiniest bit in worry, and he looks ill, but StingRay can tell from his face that he is friendly.

The Girl holds StingRay up to meet him. “Ummmm. Lumphy. Lumphy, this is StingRay. StingRay, this is Lumphy.”

The buffalo’s shiny, awake eyes meet StingRay’s. “Hey there!” he whispers, once the Girl has set them both on the counter and trotted across the store to ask her mother if she can take the buffalo home. “Am I Lumphy or StingRay?”

StingRay laughs.

“Because I’d like to be Lumphy,” the buffalo goes on, “but if you’re already Lumphy I can be StingRay, no problem.”

“You’re Lumphy,” says StingRay, sweetly. “I’ve been StingRay for a while.” And suddenly she doesn’t care one bit about being the only plush creature, at all.

She doesn’t need to be the only one.

Who wants to be the only one?

. . . . .

The buffalo gets sick to his stomach in the backpack. “Oh, oh, oh,” he moans, keeping his voice low so the Girl won’t hear. “This is not a good situation. There’s no air. It’s so dark.”

“We won’t be in here too long,” says StingRay. “When the car goes over the bumpity part you know you’re almost home.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s that old fruit smell?” the buffalo moans.

“I think it’s pear.” StingRay sniffs. “Or maybe apple? No. Definitely pear.”

“How do you know so much?”

StingRay glows. “I’ve been around a long time,” she says. “Plus I arrived on the planet just knowing things. It was kind of like magic, how knowledgeable I was from the start. I don’t think it happens to everyone.”

Lumphy moans. “My tummy hurts,” he says. “Do you know why my tummy hurts?”

“It’s probably worry,” says StingRay. “But also it could be motion sickness.”

Lumphy is sick to his stomach on the way up the stairs. He is sick when the Girl bounces with him on the high bed. And when the Girl is called downstairs for dinner, he is sick just sitting still on the carpet.

“I don’t think it’s motion sickness,” he says. “Because there’s no motion, anymore.”

“Are you going to puke?” asks StingRay.

“Maybe.”

StingRay feels a surge of generosity. Lumphy needs help. “You can puke on me if you need to,” she blurts.

“Okay,” says Lumphy. “Thanks.”

They wait.

Finally, Lumphy makes an embarrassed noise. “What’s puke again?” he asks.

“Throw up.”

“But. Ah. I thought you said I could puke on you. ”

“You can puke on me,” says StingRay, full of simple joy at her gut instinct that Lumphy is a deeply excellent person. “Because you are my friend now. It’s an honor to have a friend puke on you.”

“It is?”

“It’s like a huge compliment.” She made this up herself, but it was so long ago that StingRay believes it now.

“Hm.” Lumphy rubs his face with one front paw. “Maybe I don’t understand compliments yet.”

“Well. There are other ways to give them,” says StingRay. “Like, you could tell me I’m an especially pretty color.”

“Oh,” says Lumphy.

“Or you could say that I’m your friend, too.”

“Oh.”

“Are you still going to puke?” asks StingRay.

“Maybe. I don’t feel good.”

“Go ahead!” StingRay cries. “I don’t mind a bit!” Although now she is remembering that if she gets puked on she will have to go down in the basement and be washed and possibly dried, which actually sounds like a horrible idea. There is a terrifying pause.

Lumphy looks fantastically ill.

StingRay wonders if she can take back her offer.

No. She can’t take it back.

Frrrrrr, Frrrrrr. She makes that fear noise without meaning to, again.

If she takes it back, Lumphy won’t be friends with her.

He looks even more ill.

StingRay squeezes her eyes shut and waits for it.

“I—I don’t think I can actually puke,” Lumphy finally says. He sounds a bit disappointed. “Because I don’t eat anything.”

Phew.

“How could I forget?” StingRay says. “Of course you have to eat to actually puke. I don’t know how I could forget that for a second like I did, because I totally know all about that.”

“Sorry I can’t puke on you,” says Lumphy.

“That’s okay.”

They are silent for a moment.

“Hey. Do you know what?” asks Lumphy.

“What?”

“You are an especially pretty color,” says Lumphy.

CHAPTER FIVE

In Which Lumphy Is Brave with a Tuna Casserole

During his first four months in the house, as winter rages and then melts, as spring greens and flowers, Lumphy watches a lot of television and lets StingRay teach him board games. He also spends time in the bathroom. The Girl sets him on the toilet seat cover while she takes a bath. It is there that the buffalo witnesses tooth brushing, hair combing, scrubbing with a long-armed scrubby brush, nail clipping, something called hair conditioner, braiding, and also squirting with a spray bottle.

It is all pretty difficult to understand. Lumphy’s buffalo body doesn’t need any conditioning or combing or clipping. He just goes natural. And all this bathroom activity seems to take an awful lot of the Girl’s time every day. Some of it is obviously cleaning, but some of it doesn’t make any sense. Like, why would you clip your nails? Wouldn’t you want to sharpen them instead?