• There he sat. Staring blankly as always, on the edge of the bathtub.

    Sir Reginald seemed to be in one heck of a predicament. And as Tara looked at him, she decided that she no longer cared how he got there. She cared about how she was going to get him back. Which at this point, seemed impossible.

    Tara stood at the bathroom sink, peering at Sir Reginald through the mirror. He was old. Tattered. Well-loved. His dark brown fur was now matted from going through the wash many a time before, and faded in certain spots. His black button eyes were cracked and pale from being left outside in the sun one too many times. And the edges where his limbs met his body lacked fluff, from being hugged again and again. And not often enough, Tara thought. His large head was flopped to one side, staring emptily back at Tara through the mirror.

    Tara huffed. "You have really gotten yourself into trouble this time, haven't you Sir Reginald. You must feel very very foolish." She scolded him. She stared hard at him, looking over every worn detail about him that made her love him so very much. Then she turned from the mirror, looking to the tub. Nothing. She turned back. There he was.

    "Well don't expect me to come and get you. I have half a mind to leave you there, you know. You naughty little bear you..."

    She wasn't really mad at him. She knew it wasn't his fault. He was probably just as scared as she was. Maybe even more so. But she didn't know what else to do. It frustrated her, and she didn't know what she should do. And he wasn't helping any.

    "Fine! Fine! You can just stay there for all I care!" She shouted, jumping down from her stepping stool, and ran from the bathroom, tears in her eyes. She didn't mean to yell at him. She was confused. She wanted to blame someone. She threw herself onto her bed and she cried. She wanted her friend back. She missed him so much it hurt.

    And she wished she had her friend to make the hurt go away. But he wasn't there. And that made it hurt even more. And that made her want him even more. It was a vicious cycle. It seemed hopeless.

    For so long she cried, before she jumped up from her bed, tears still in her eyes. He couldn't just let him go. She loved him too much. He had been there for her so many times before. And what had she done for him? Left him in the sun. Spilled jam on him. Blamed him for eating the last cookie. And did he ever get mad at her? Did he ever blame her? No. He was a true, real friend. He took it all, and he always came back, with love and friendship in those torn seams and fractured eyes.

    "I'm sorry!" She yelled running back down the hall. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! You're my best friend in the whole wide world! I'll save you! I promise!" She shouted to him thru the mirror. The more she looked at him, the more she wished she could hug him.

    She looked back to the tub, frantic, desperate. But he wasn't there. He just remained, trapped inside that mirror. And she cried, she fell to the floor, hands at her face. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." She choked through her sobs.

    She rubbed her red eyes, looking about the room, there had to be a way. She couldn't give up on him. She needed him. And he needed her now. She leaped to her feet, back onto the stool. And she shouted: "I'm sorry Sir Reginald! I'm sorry! Please forgive me! I'll save you! I love you!"

    Down from the stool she leaped, grabbing on to the rickety old thing's wooden legs, and with all her might, she flung the stool into the mirror. And her world became noise. Great shattering noise and glass as it exploded around the room. She ducked down and covered her eyes, scared but determined.

    When all was quiet, she remained, for just a moment longer. And then she peeked through the tiniest crack in her fingers. At first what she saw confused her. What was it? It was pale, and black, and cracked. It looked old. Daring to look further, she opened her hands even more. Faded brown cloth surrounded the bleached black button.

    With a great cry of joy, She leaped to her feet, uncovering her eyes. "Sir Reginald!" She cried. There he sat on the edge of the tub. She grabbed him immediately and pulled him into a great embrace, tightening more and more and more, as if he would disappear should he be dropped. "I'm sorry." She cried. "I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault. You didn't do it. You must have been so scared. I'm sorry. I'll never be mean to you again."

    Sir Reginold took the tight hug without a word. His cracked eyes peering blankly at the shattered frame of a mirror on the wall, and a stool sitting in the sink. Her sobs and apologies did not fall on deaf ears, however. He heard every single one. But he said nothing. Just as he always did. Just like every other time she blamed something on him, or left him behind. He loved her very very much. There were no apologies needed.