Sara Jayne

I remember sitting in that crowded bin for the longest time. Everyone ignored me. Soon, all my neighbors were gone. I was the last one left. Christmas was only a few days away. At least, that's what everyone in the store was saying. I didn't know what that meant. All I knew was that the people seemed to be getting angrier and greedier by the minute, so Christmas must be a terrible thing.

One afternoon, as I was just about to give up hope of ever being picked out of this dusty, old bin, two ladies grabbed me and had a fight.

"I had her first!"

"No, you didn't. I had her!"

They pulled so hard on me that one of my arms almost came off of my body. "Now, look what you've done. You ruined it! I don't want it anymore."

"Well, neither do I."

They tossed me on the floor and kicked me under the shelf, then stomped away, yelling at each other. I began crying. No one would take me home with my arm almost falling off. When the store lady swept the floor, she would find me with my broken arm and throw me into the bin that went outside in the dark every night. The broken toys, the busted bottles, the dented cans; I was one of them now.

I managed to shrink myself really small for a few days until the store lady said it was the day before this awful Christmas thing. I held my breath and waited for her to scoop me up with the rest of the trash. But, a woman and a man came into the store just before she locked the door.

I could hear them from beneath the shelf, "Wow! Everything is one dollar? Really? That's amazing!" the woman said to the store lady, unsure if she could believe her or not.

"Yes, you don't have to ask how much everything is, ma'am. It's all one dollar," the store lady assured her as she continued straightening the merchandise on the shelves.

The man said, "We have $44.00 to spend on presents. The kids will be so excited in the morning! Thank you, Honey, for working so hard on that cookie order tonight."

They carefully picked out items for a little boy and a girl. The little girl would surely love me if my arm weren't broken. But, not now. I thought, sadly.

"We have 19 toys for Sam and 18 for Sara, with enough left for tax. I wish I could find a baby doll. They're all gone, though," the woman said, tipping the bin I used to live in upside down, hoping to find one last dolly. She knelt down to give the bin one last look when I summoned all my strength, flopping my arm gently against her pant leg.

"What? Oh, Honey, look! It's a pretty little dolly. Just perfect for Sara," she cooed, excited to find me.

"Sweetie, that doll is broken. Look. One of the arms is falling off," the man said, trying to convince her to put me back.

"Phht, that's what needles and thread are for, silly. I can fix her up in no time. She's more than perfect. She's beautiful!"

That night, instead of being taken outside to the cold, dark trash bin, I was stitched back together and lovingly wrapped in pretty paper with a big bow. The next morning, a little girl named Sara Jayne, opened my wrapper and said, with a big smile, "Mommy, I'm going to name her Sara Jayne. I love her. She will sleep with me, play house with me, and ride in my toy stroller. I'll be her mommy and she'll be my baby."

That arm had to be stitched on several more times over the years, because Sara Jayne dragged me everywhere by the hand, constantly pulling out the stitches the lady had carefully sewn into me.

It felt wonderful to be found by just the right people.