The woman looked around the shops slowly, an appraising look sweeping across her face. Her voice was almost velvet, smooth and composed. "We want—he wants a Teddy Bear.” The boy moved past the isles of new, shiny plastic toys, wandering around the store for a few minutes. He looked towards the man, almost as if asking if he knew where to find one. The man shook his head at first, then evidently remembering the old bear he pointed towards the highest shelf. "Look there.” He exclaimed. "I had practically forgotten about those old things, there still might be one.” He then took a ladder to reach the shelf, where Bear's heart, sewn together just as good as it was years ago—almost burst with excitement. The boy looked straight at Bear, and for once, Bear felt like he understood the gaze. It was not like the others, simply wandering past; not the sweeping glance of a parent nor the distracted eyes of someone looking for something cheaper. This was different. This was a kind of recognition he had never felt before. The boy turned to the woman, his mother, and said two simple words in the most professional tone he could muster. "That one.” The shopkeeper gently placed Bear in the boy's arms, and the boy held him in the only way that a boy can—completely. His mother quickly paid for Bear, not wasting a second to haggle before stepping outside. The bleak weather had not moved, but the boy did not seem to notice it under his new occupation. His name was Baron. He was six years old and had not yet learned that the world would ask hard and difficult things of him. Bear did not know this either, but he knew what he felt, which was something close to completion. They walked home through the cold together, Bear tucked under Baron's arm, and for the first time in a long time, neither of them were waiting anymore. The seasons moved the way they do when you are happy and in a state of enjoyment—quickly. Baron took Bear to school, the playground; everywhere. His mother was a warm woman who laughed easily, cooked loudly and smelled of oregano and soap. His father was tall and quiet, working late at the docks. They lived in a small house near the water in Greece and for a while, it was enough. Then came the news they were leaving. Baron did not fully understand what America had to offer or even what it meant, but he was sure as long as he had his family, he would be safe. The morning they left, the sky was the same bleak charcoal it always was when things changed. The port was loud with luggage and other families saying their goodbyes. Baron's father crouched down to his level and said something Baron would spend years trying to remember. Then he stood, shook his son's hand like a man, and walked back through the crowd without turning around. On the ship, Baron stood at the railing with Bear, watching Greece fade into the water, getting smaller and ever more insignificant. The water was enormous, grey and indifferent; harsher and calmer than anything Baron or Bear had ever seen before. Baron was holding Bear over the railing, not carelessly, only the way children hold things when trying to show them the world. The ship tilted slightly, waves rolling gently to the side of the deck, small, but large
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