Cricket (Descriptive Essay, meaningful object that I no longer have).

As an only child who lived a good distance away from her best friends, I spent many of my early years creating playmates for myself. However, the Christmas after I turned five, my grandmother brought me Cricket. Cricket wasn't a puppy, or a goldfish, or anything alive. She was simply a doll. Dolls like Cricket aren't made anymore. She was nearly as tall as I (the box she came in was even bigger), with blonde …

…was in my dad's woodshop and I caught sight of her blue bag with the pink logo. As far as I know, she still lives in that woodshop, hidden behind boxes of kindergarten assignments and art projects. I haven't asked, however. If she's truly gone, for whatever reason, I don't want to know about it. Even at 24, a part of my heart still misses the feelings of comfort and companionship that she brought to me.