“There, there. It will be all right, again.”
“There, there it will be right . . . there where you left it.”
“Where did you leave it? It was my favorite. You knew it was my favorite.”
“You will always be, my favorite.”
“My favorite time of year is . . . right here .”

I tried to screw the porcelein head back in place, to stop the memories.
The Velveteen Rabbit, the velvet dress, the velvet Elvis, the velvet-lined music box with the ballerina that kept turning and turning and turning.

“Return it to where it belongs now.”
“You knew it was my favorite!”
“Things drop because they are being mis- . . . "
“Missing?”
“Missy, you had better have a good reason.”

She spun and the music never changed.

“Some things never change.”

I tried to hide the broken violin before she knew. I love music, but I have no ear for it.

“Are you trying to break my heart?”
“He had enlarged heart syndrome. No, not like The Grinch.”

How can I listen when my Easter Rabbit has no ears? My Easter hat covers my ears.