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Le Mooz

His days consist of waiting. Watching with eyes wide open. Never changing position, never giving away his deepest secrets. He knows he looks ridiculous, he must. He's a moose.

He's not even real.

But I swear he's alive.

He was alive when we first met, when I wasn't. I saw his cumbersome antlers stand out among other, more vibrant knickknacks scattered around a hand-me-down store. I remember thinking how crazy I was for leaping out of my car in the middle of my commute to work, especially since I always drive by. But something drew me inside.

I left and put him on my dashboard. At the red light, which never caught me until this morning, I picked him up. His adorable, yet relaxed gaze grabbed me. I could see dirt marks and tiny scuffs he was loved once. Yet, the energy that surrounded him wafted around like an aroma. It called my name, and I answered. I felt the love this moose once shared with his old friend. It flowed through me and lifted a haze. I could see that I was so unaware, and all it took was a tiny plastic moose. I turned him around, and inscribed in a child's handwriting it read, "Le Mooz + Jessamine" and below, in cursive, "you will be in our hearts, J, always."

I turned my car around as the light turned green. If Le Mooz couldn't see his old friend live forever, he would have to settle for me.

Story by:

Lindsay McCarthy

10 October 2013