Eric Rasmussen
In the early days of a shelter order, we desire to help, support, entertain, and distract. For a minute I toy with the idea of learning “The Hustle” on harmonica to accompany my son who is learning “The Hustle” on trombone so we can make some hilarious and unbelievably shareable video. My son is uninterested in that level of commitment. Honestly, so am I.
But soon an idea comes across my feed for a community-wide effort that is more our speed. A teddy bear scavenger hunt! Place a bear somewhere visible so families out on walks have something to search for. That is exactly the level of energy expenditure we can handle. My daughter fetches a bear and the kids and I collaborate over its placement in one of the chairs on the front porch.
A short while later I take my own afternoon walk, and it amazes me how well the teddy bear scavenger hunt accomplishes its goal. Every stuffed animal peeking behind venetian blinds and hanging from a curtain rod is a little inside joke that feels like community. But this is not what gives me hope. I come from a city in a part of the world that usually does a pretty nice job of supporting our neighbors. Not everyone, and not easily, and not always right away, but for the most part, we’ve got each other’s backs.
After my loop around the neighborhood I pass in front of my own house, with my daughter’s stuffed animal out front. As far as scavenger hunts go, ours is a bit of a challenge—the bear is the same color as the chair upholstery, and it can only be seen from a certain angle. But another thought occurs to me. Call it the jack-o-lantern concern. What if a bunch of neighborhood youths decide our bear is ripe for shenanigans?
“Get some rope,” I tell my son when I enter the house. “We have to tie up that bear.”
This is what gives me hope. Pranksters targeting our teddy bear. People on the internet griping about having to stay inside and arguing about what counts as an essential business. All the testimonials of rampant screen time and day drinking. Without discounting the need to take a pandemic seriously and act with each other in mind, I love that the fear doesn’t entirely consume us. The empty roads fill me with confidence that we shall weather this crisis. The occasional car does too.
From the sidewalk, you can’t tell that our bear is trussed up like a prisoner in a spy movie, but it’s there, representing both our nobler intentions and our basal instincts. We need both to get us through, adorable plush smiles on our faces, and double knots around our necks and paws.
Eric Rasmussen teaches English at Memorial High School in Eau Claire, serves as fiction editor for Sundog Lit, and edits the regional literary journal Barstow & Grand. Find more of his prose online at theotherericrasmussen.com.