Velveteen Reality

It had been two years, and I’m utterly positive now: I can’t leave.

The last thing I remembered was drifting off after doing some late-night reading. And the next thing I knew, I woke up in a forest with wings attached to my back. I. Had. Wings.

Why did I have wings? I truly didn’t know. But after flying around, it seemed to be around the turn of the century. The modern world I grew up in was long gone, and I had no idea how to get back home. I spent three weeks spiraling in anxiety and fear, flying aimlessly around the woods looking for any sort of sign of where I was. The only clues I had were the lack of modern cars and the unpaved landscape—I was definitely not in any metropolitan city.

One twist of luck I discovered was my new magic affinity. My now shrunken size allowed me to fly anywhere really quickly, and the humans weren’t able to see me. I flitted around gardens and kitchens without being caught. I needed to eat somehow, and I hadn’t the faintest idea of what job I would’ve been able to get. Plus, it was still quite cold outside, so the warmth inside was hard to resist.

As I flew around the houses one night, I was peeking through the windows for any sort of entertainment on their old-school TVs when I noticed a horse and a rabbit in the middle of the room. Something deep inside told me to go in, so I slipped through and hid in a dark corner.

“What is real?” the little bunny asked the horse.

“Real isn’t how you are made. It’s a thing that happens to you,” the horse replied sagely.

Yup. I had landed myself somehow in The Velveteen Rabbit. 

I had somehow become the Fairy in my favorite childhood story. When I was younger, I used to own several stuffed bunnies in the hopes of creating a real one myself. I had memorized the story by heart—but I never once wanted to be part of the story! I couldn’t accept being sent back a whole century just to make stuffed animals real.

Once the reality started sinking in, I made a beeline for the forest hollow I had now called my home. Now that I was able to use magic, outdoor living was more manageable for me. It was a far cry from the comfort I grew up in, but it was a lot easier.

“Okay, okay, okay. I am a fairy. I am to make toys turn into real things?? The horse explains to the rabbit at the beginning of the…” I trailed off, running my memory at high speed, not trusting my recollection, and trying to find other sources of truth. Alas, it was to no avail. “I’m at the beginning of the story. The rabbit doesn’t turn real…for another half a year…”

If I were to make the rabbit real…then would I be able to go home?

A new determination filled within me. I now had a shot.

For the next few months, I began pushing the boy and bunny together: hiding the china dog, whispering in the boy’s ear that he longed for the bunny, and nudging the nanny on where to find it every time it was left behind.

Then, my time to shine had come.

I distracted the gardener and untied the bag holding the old toys to burn. That night, the velveteen rabbit rolled out. I had practiced and rehearsed for this very moment.

“You were real to the boy because he loved you,” I delivered in my most cheery voice. “Now, you shall be real to everyone.”

I scooped the rabbit up in my arms, dropped it off in the forest, and gave one final kiss. Then, I fluttered back into the shadows and watched as the rabbit explored its new life.

But I didn’t return as I had hoped.

I still had wings on my back, I could still use magic, and I was still in the story. With a light heart, I flew back to my hollow. I surprised myself when I thought about how…meaningful it felt to transform a boy’s love into a tangible wish.

So, when I saw myself still in those now-familiar woods, watching the velveteen rabbit of my childhood hopping around, I wasn’t too disappointed.

After all, there were plenty of toys to watch over.