Magic Medicine

Magic Medicine

Timmy was always sick. He seemed to have been born with every disease and condition possible. He was sickly, pale, weak, and a number of other unhappy adjectives. Worst off perhaps, was due to this he was always alone. He wasn't allowed to have friends, for they might kill him with their germs. He couldn't have pets, for he was allergic. But he could have stuffed animals. And he had latched on to this freedom like a drowning man to a raft and bought hundreds, of all shapes and sizes. He loved them all dearly, and they were each his best friend.

And even though he was sickly, he loved to play with them while his parents were gone all day at work. He would make believe all kinds of amazing stories, elaborate tales of epic scale. But as much as he could pretend, then always  just sat there. It was the loneliest life he could have imagined, but he tried to keep his spirits up, otherwise he surely would have gone mad from the terrible feeling.

An interesting thing about Timmy was even though he was almost always alone, he was very generous, very kind. He cared for each and every one of them, giving them food, names, clothes, love and attention, the same love and attention he himself never received.

One morning when Timmy woke up, ready to start another day of play, he could feel a mild asthma attack coming. Quickly, he reached over to the bedside table, having to wade through the mountain of cuddly yet inanimate, lifeless friends, and grabbed his inhaler. He gave himself a puff and breathed deeply a few times, then relaxed back against the pillows. As he lay, his eyes half closed, staring at the ceiling, he thought about the medicine. It saved his life so often, it really must be a good thing. He looked down at one of his favorite stuffed friends, a bright green bear about six inches tall. If he were honest, it didn't really look much like a bear, just a lump of shapes with a head, torso, and limbs. But it was fuzzy and cuddly and so he called it a bear. It stared back at him with soulless glass eyes, but he found comfort in those eyes. He smiled at Green Bear, and stuck the inhaler over the mouth of the toy. “you should get some too, Green Bear.”  He said, and squeezed.

The puff of inhalant squirted Green Bear in the face, and the bear fell over backwards. It began to cough, spluttering and gagging. Timmy stared, open mouthed at the stuffed toy who was now gasping on his bed. The toy was quickly recovering, and pushed itself up onto its elbows and smiled warmly at him. It said nothing, but continued to smile. Dazed, Timmy stuck the inhaler in a stuffed kitten's mouth and squeezed again. Again, the toy spluttered and coughed and wheezed for a while, but recovered and gave him a happy smile. This cat was silent too, but he thought he knew it was purring. He stared down at his inhaler, absolutely amazed. Questions raced through his young mind, how could this be, why was this happening, how is this even possible​?! But he let these questions aside. Looking around him at the hundreds of stuffed animals, he began giving all of them puffs, and one by one they all coughed, recovered, smiled, and gathered around him. Once he had finished giving every last one of them a puff, he sat back and opened his arms for a hug. They surged up towards him, cuddling close and silently showing their love. Be began to laugh at their behavior, and tears filled his eyes. He was crying, he was so happy to have his friends. They pulled back after a while, and he asked them “Well, what do  you want to do?” they all ran away from him in a big wave, bringing back various toys. Board games, cards, books, balls and all sorts of various fun things to do. He laughed through his tears, and began to play.

He played all day, starting with the board games. He played Green Bear in battle ship, he struggled with a bright red snake in Stratego, calculated with his friend the Cheshire cat in chess,  and many more games with many more friends. He then moved on to poker, playing them with big groups of all the stuffed puppies he had. Then black jack with all the cats. And eventually, out of habbit, one game of solitaire with himself, while the rest of them looked on and encouraged him silently. Then he began to play with balls with the larger stuffed animals, creating little games for them to play as they went along. He had the best time in his life, playing with his new friends.

At one point he felt a soft little paw poke him in the shin and he looked down to see Green Bear chasing Blue Bear and a number of the other not quite bear-shaped bears. He watched them for a second, assuming they must be trying to tell him something. Then it clicked. “Oh, you want to play tag?” he asked them. They all turned to face him and nodded, then shook their heads. “um, you want to play a game about chasing and catching?” then they nodded more energetically. “Well, who's going to play?” every stuffed animal raised their arms or similarly signaled their participation. “ok, then who's it?” they all pointed at him silently. “oh. ok...” he paused, then with a gleeful giggle he leapt at them. “You'd better run!”

They scattered. He chased them all down, laughing and having the time of his life. As he tagged one, they would return to the center of the living room and sit, as though in the time out zone. He ran harder than he had ever run in his life, and was having the happiest moment of his entire existence. But just as he was chasing down the last few, he could feel his lungs burning, his throat constricting, and his head spinning. He was having an asthma attack. Quicly he turned back to the waiting toys and said frantically, barely managing to speak,  “In-in-inhaler!”

About twenty sprinted up the stairs and carried it back down to him. By now he was crawling towards the center of the room, taking tiny shuddering breaths. He looked over at them, holding it aloft for him. He snatched and put it in his mouth, relief flooding his body. He squeezed the inhaler.

Nothing. There was no medicine left. None. He stared at it, shaking it violently and trying again, and again, and again, his breath coming harder and weaker with every passing second. His vision began to go black, and he looked around him at all the stuffed animals which had had given life from his medicine. They crowded around him as he collapsed, gasping like a fish out of water, terror like nothing before running through him as he felt himself dying. No air. No life left in him. As he faded into darkness, he could feel them all piling up on top of him, holding him, comforting him. With the last of his strength he grabbed as many as he could in a great hug, squeezed hard in thanks, and died.

Later that night Timmy's parents came home and were horrified to find their only child dead on the floor. They stood over him, racked with sobs, and saw the strange scene. He had placed all his stuffed animals kneeling around him, looking at him as he lay gently, his arms crossed over his chest, a peaceful smile on his face. Timmy's father picked up the empty inhaler and shook it. He looked down at his only son and thought. After a while, he came to a conclusion. “He died with the friends he could never have.” he said. Then reconsidered. “he died, with all the friends he ever had.” He swallowed, holding back tears as his wife stared at him, confused, “and when the magic medicine of that friendship died... so did he.”