Not just material things

From Gregory Stock's Book of Questions, I am asked: Your house, containing everything you own, catches fire; after saving your loved ones and pets, you have time to safely make a final dash to save any one item. What would it be?

Her voice is as clear as the Christmas Day I unwrap the box almost twenty years earlier. "When I'm dead and gone- you can tell people this is the nicest thing your mother ever got for you." Nestled in the glass globe is a teddy bear atop a rocking horse. Iridescent glitter falls softly around them with a turn of the wrist. There is just enough water within to create the snowy, floating effect. He wears baby blue overalls and one eye is slightly bigger than the other. No doubt an inexact movement of the artist's hand- but it lends to the bear's charm. He holds on for dear life to the white horse with the yellow saddle. The horse's eyes are blank. Fulfilling its equine duties with resignation. They rock to Brahm's Lullaby when the turnkey is wound; the noisy coils inside rivaling the soft music. I guard it with the province of a sentry.

I would always run back for that water globe. Because it is indeed the nicest thing she ever gave me. Because she is gone now. Because I'd brave fire and more- just to have a small piece of her for all time.