June First

by Jennifer Hartmann

The note slips from my fingers, fluttering to my feet. I feel like I can’t breathe. What? It can’t be. It’s not possible. It’s not fucking possible. The room starts to spin. I’m shaking as I sift through the package and pull out a plush object wrapped in tissue paper, my chest weighed down by emotion-steeped bricks. How? How, June? With trembling fingers, I carefully unpiece the tape from the thin white paper, uncovering an irreplaceable token from my childhood. Something I never thought I’d see again. My cherished stuffed elephant. Bubbles. It’s Bubbles. I fucking break down like the child who used to clutch this elephant tightly in his arms beneath colorful bedsheets while his mother sang him lullabies and smelled of candy and cake. A devastating, joyful sound creeps up my throat, and I cover a hand over my mouth as my whole body shakes with tears. It’s Bubbles. “I’ll find him someday for you, Brant. I promise.” She found him. June found him for me.