Beetleman began to run his
fingers through the fur carpet. He imagined himself hugging the bear, his
friend and quiet companion. It would keep him warm when they went snowshoeing
and stopped to eat, and listen to his stories about hiking up to the top of the
hill. The bear would sit politely and sometimes give a forced nod when Beetleman
needed a prompt to continue. It wasn’t a polar bear but it wouldn’t mind the
snow because Beetleman fed it cherries from the grocery store that he would buy
on Sundays. The cherries came from somewhere warm in big crates – Beetleman
would like to tell the bear about the big cherry truck which dropped them all
off on Saturdays, and then the bear would grin and spit out the cherry pits at
Beetleman and they would laugh and laugh.
He rose and stepped over to the bear’s
head, sitting on the carpet staring out the screen door. It was summer and
Beetleman hated summer. Summer was long. Summer was boring.
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