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After a long and painful recovery from the stitching, the grey bear was back on his paws, though he had developed a slight paranoia that the red bear still wanted him dead. He took to slapping a paw around any corner he came to in case the red bear was laying in wait out of sight. During the day, the grey bear drank heavily in an attempt to silence his paranoid thoughts. At night, he insisted on sleeping in my bed in the event that the red bear did try to make an attempt on his life again. I began to fear that their old friendship was permanently buried, and all thanks to the influence of that new bear. My mom and I sat down to discuss this. While we hadn't noticed the new bear drinking or acting up, we did notice that the levels in the alcohol bottles had been dropping steadily. We also noticed empty medicine bottles in the cabinets, namely sleeping pills. |
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This was the last straw. On New Year's Eve, I locked up the bears, locked up the liquor, and went out to the bar with a few friends. Around about 11:30, a fight broke out in the back room of the bar. After hearing the words, "f***ing teddy bears," I raced to the back of the bar, only to just barely catch sight of the new bear slipping into the men's room. I went into the back corner to inspect a smallish shape huddled up on a tall bar chair. I'd never seen this bear before in my life -- he certainly wasn't one of my teddy bears. Yet here he was, drunk, and my friend's new bear was to blame. Again. How many more lives did he have to ruin before I'd take action, I asked myself. None, came the reply. I called the Betty Ford Clinic that very night |
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