The Elephant Statue

My Grandmother collected elephants. These silly little miniature statues that my cousins and I used to fight over. She had this terrarium that she jazzed up with fake mountains and trees And we used to drag them along the plastic astro-turf Making trumpet sounds as best we could.
When she died my Grandfather treated me to a fancy dinner at Carrow's And told me I was always her favorite. We went back home and he sat me in front of the now luxurious display case that had long since replaced the elephant terrarium and He told me I could have one. Or all of them. Hell, he said, She would have wanted you to.
I picked this small brown ceramic one With black painted dots for eyes and Slashes for eyebrows. I think we used to call it "Betsy." It was the runt of the herd and the other toy elephants teased her.
She had always been my favorite.
Now, before you go questioning my sanity with some, "It was just a damn statue, Heather," nonsense- keep in mind that I have already proven myself to be crazy. And I will cut you.
For the last three weeks I've carried Betsy with me everywhere. Serious. I'm talking pocket companion like some three year old with a security blanket.
Go ahead and judge. That woman raised me. And it was all I had left.
I washed my clothes today. A less then extraordinary feat, sure, but when I opened my dryer door pieces of a broken ceramic elephant tumbled into my hands. I collapsed in a puddle of bounty dryer sheets and static cling.
And I just sat there. Sobbing.
You'd have thought someone had shot my dog. In front of me. Twice. And then ate it- by the way I was crying about this thing.
And its funny- how we give so much weight to inanimate objects, you know?
I had a friend that wore this necklace everyday of her life since she was seven-years old because her Great-Aunt's best friend told her it was good luck.
It was a freaking necklace. That thing could no sooner bring about good luck than I could conjure up a snowstorm in July. But I'll be damned if that thing didn't have power. If not to anyone else, then to her. And I started believing in it because she did;
"But, Karen," I used to say in my naive 6th grade tone, "Jacob has to have a crush on you- You're wearing your lucky necklace!"
Things have power because we give them power.
But I can assure you that Karen Glos' necklace was not lucky.
No more than that damned elephant was my Grandmother.
But I'm going to keep believing that, in some weird, cosmic, cool, way necklaces can make boys like you. And elephant statues can bring back a loved one.
And go ahead and call me crazy- but I went to Chinatown today.
I bought three elephants. One for my desk. One for my car. And one for my pocket.
I'm starting a collection. Of elephants. Of memories. For her.
Because if I lose my magical, childlike idealism there ain't much left of me worth saving.


Now. Does anyone have a terrarium I could have?