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strange things
[Woody doesn't like trash cans. One ride in a dumpster (and a near-incineration at the dump) was enough for him.]
[But the upturned wastebasket seems enough to keep Forky pacified, for now. Even though he isn't in the bin, technically, being under it and surrounded by trash is apparently enough to keep the (freaky and alarming) little guy from trying to throw himself away. When Bonnie comes back Woody plans on tipping it back over so Forky's visible, so that Bonnie can take him on the road trip.]
[In the meantime, Woody is making sure the new toy(?)(!) doesn't go anywhere, by sitting on top of the upturned bin to weigh it down. He kicks his legs idly, looking out at the other toys excitedly getting ready for the road trip, gathering all their accessories.]
[Woody's expression, now that no one is currently looking his way, is slightly pensive.]
[He's pretty sure he knows who's going to get chosen.]
[Mostly sure.]
[Kind of sure.]
[...Okay, he's sure who else is probably going to get chosen by Bonnie to go with her. The toy he's not sure will get picked...is him.]
[Maybe it's just a phase, he thinks. Kids are funny like that. Look at Andy's brief obsession with Buzz. Temporary insanity, really, but then the status quo settled into a position where they were close to equal.]
[Close to it, because Woody had still shaken out to be the clear favorite, once the dust had settled. He's the one Andy had chosen to take to college, after all, when he could've chosen them both. Maybe Woody'd just gotten a little spoiled. This is how it is for the non-favorites, right? Phases of not getting played with? Maybe it doesn't mean she's done with him already. Who is he to fuss over it? Getting played with is just not the point of it all.]
[Still, his foot twitches nervously as he kicks his little kicks.]
[She'll take you too, he tells himself. She might not play with you but she'll at least do that.]
[But the upturned wastebasket seems enough to keep Forky pacified, for now. Even though he isn't in the bin, technically, being under it and surrounded by trash is apparently enough to keep the (freaky and alarming) little guy from trying to throw himself away. When Bonnie comes back Woody plans on tipping it back over so Forky's visible, so that Bonnie can take him on the road trip.]
[In the meantime, Woody is making sure the new toy(?)(!) doesn't go anywhere, by sitting on top of the upturned bin to weigh it down. He kicks his legs idly, looking out at the other toys excitedly getting ready for the road trip, gathering all their accessories.]
[Woody's expression, now that no one is currently looking his way, is slightly pensive.]
[He's pretty sure he knows who's going to get chosen.]
[Mostly sure.]
[Kind of sure.]
[...Okay, he's sure who else is probably going to get chosen by Bonnie to go with her. The toy he's not sure will get picked...is him.]
[Maybe it's just a phase, he thinks. Kids are funny like that. Look at Andy's brief obsession with Buzz. Temporary insanity, really, but then the status quo settled into a position where they were close to equal.]
[Close to it, because Woody had still shaken out to be the clear favorite, once the dust had settled. He's the one Andy had chosen to take to college, after all, when he could've chosen them both. Maybe Woody'd just gotten a little spoiled. This is how it is for the non-favorites, right? Phases of not getting played with? Maybe it doesn't mean she's done with him already. Who is he to fuss over it? Getting played with is just not the point of it all.]
[Still, his foot twitches nervously as he kicks his little kicks.]
[She'll take you too, he tells himself. She might not play with you but she'll at least do that.]
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[But he's grown over time.]
[So his voice is taut like a bowstring ready to break, but it doesn't snap. It stays quiet, he doesn't yell, he doesn't lash out and try to hurt. It's tense and a little pained, but without being accusatory.]
[He didn't want to talk about this like they owed him anything, didn't want to ever hold it over their heads, make them feel indebted. But sometimes it bothers him that it's something his friends never really think about when they ask things of him, or prod at him, or tease him, or just not quite get where he's coming from or going through.]
[He doesn't expect them to be grateful but he does expect them to understand. Instead of getting angry, though, for once he explains where his head is at. He's a different toy than he was a decade ago.]
I already factored in what all of you [not "we"] wanted. I factored in how you'd have been up in Andy's attic in the dark, not sure when you'd be taken down again or if you'd be yard saled. I factored in Jessie having to be stuck in a box, about how you might have your box pinned down by another box, so you couldn't even get out and move around. I factored in that boxes in the attic sometimes get thrown away by accident.
[He'd thought about the contingencies and the worst case scenarios. He'd been a good leader who worried more about the well being of the group than himself.]
I factored all of that in and now everyone has a second chance, right now, no being stuck in the dark, with Bonnie.
[He bristles with tension, shows a rare bit of grief on his face, for what he still feels like he gave up. It's something he'd only ever show his best friend, due to a bond that started when they'd opened up and been vulnerable in a way you only could be while trapped in a crate and strapped to a rocket.]
[He'd been a favorite toy, so loved Andy wanted to take him to college. He'd been so loved he'd already been passed down from one Davis to the next. He'd been so loved there was a very strong chance he'd have been passed down to Andy's child - special, because it was dad's.]
[It wasn't certain because nothing ever was but after giving up that strong chance to keep his friends out of the attic, and then be asked to, what, hide in the attic? Gather dust in a closet? Sneak around behind furniture to avoid getting caught? Instead of being loved by another child?]
[It stings, having someone not seem to notice that he'd sacrificed his near-sure chance for theirs.]
[He finally gets stubborn, hand curled at his chest.]
If she doesn't want me, if she gives me away, I don't think there's anything wrong with wanting my second chance too.
[Asserting his needs and wants for once and just saying them - apparently you can teach an old toy at least a few new tricks.]
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[Of all the conversations they can have - and when there's a conversation Buzz can only have with someone, he has it with Woody (or Jessie) - are they never ever going to have this one?]
I know you gave up a lot for the rest of us.[To be fair, he's actually glad Woody is acknowledging that elephant in the room, which he's been growing more aware of himself as the years passed.]
I'm talking about all of us. All toys, everywhere. What we want doesn't factor in. It never will.
[If they are becoming religious types, then what he's saying is as close as they get to heresy. This is why he can only talk about it with Woody - if Woody will talk about it at all.]
But it's not even worth talking about, is it? There's nothing we can do about it.
[Challenging the status quo that keeps them basically powerless in their own fates would mean jeopardizing their chances of being played with. Even if all they get is a few years . . . jeopardizing that is just not worth the heresy of growing tired of not being people, with their own fates in their hands.]
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[What Buzz is talking about is even heavier. It's a conversation toys just don't have, something they try not to question. They try not to think critically about the lack of control over their own lives because the answers at the end of every line of questioning are quite frankly a little depressing.]
[It takes some times to find the words. He works his jaw a few times and nothing comes out at first.]
What can we do? It's either living the way we do where we don't have much control or living in secret as lost toys. Either way is still in secret. Either way is hard somehow.
That's all there is. We can't ever...ever talk to them. You know how humans get, they get afraid at things, and when they're afraid they get angry. And if we can't ever be seen, we can't ever have some of the things they have.
[He gestures towards the door, towards Bonnie.]
If they knew we were alive all this time they might...get rid of every toy there is. And all the kids that didn't know we were alive would look back on their childhoods as something scary, and they'll think about any toys they threw away or accidentally broke and...
[It'd hurt them all, toys and kids and adults remembering their childhood.]
And if anything made to be a toy comes alive - [He lightly knocks a spurred boot at the trash can, pointing out Forky] what if they stopped making us at all? And kids never had us again?
[He breathes in a deep breath into lungs that aren't real, the habit probably dreamed into them.]
I don't have any answers, Buzz. All I know is we have to find meaning and good we can do for others, toy and human, wherever we can. Even if it's hard. Even if there are things we can't control. Even if sometimes our choices aren't really the ones we want.
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But it all comes down to this, to him accepting that in a short amount of time, he might never see his best buddy again, because Woody is better at accepting it than he is.
If he's ever separated from Jessie, he already knows he's not going to accept it quietly. He'll kick out a tail light and hitch a ride back from the thrift store or the dump if he has to. He'll hide out in luggage until he makes it all the way to whatever museum she ends up collected in, and . . . then what? Hide in the vents forever, depending on the security system, just staring down at her in her motion-sensor-guarded box for all eternity?
And he'll do that, because the alternative is just too catastrophic for everyone.
They get a few unguaranteed years of happiness.
It has to be enough.
With nothing to say but agree, he just puts a plastic hand on Woody's ragdoll shoulder.]
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All we can do right now is just hope the wind blows a different direction.
[And that he gets more time with his friends.]
[There's a warning jangled from Ringles, the stuffed animal on the door and Dolly calls out "Bonnie's coming!"]
[Woody lets go of Buzz's hand. The contact is there and then just like that, it's gone. He hops off the trash can.]
Quick, help me topple the trash can over.
[He needs to expose Forky underneath, so Bonnie can pack him for the trip.]
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They have to work fast, as the sound of Bonnie's little footsteps thunder down the hall.]
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I've got him.
[Only one of them is needed to keep him in place until Bonnie picks him up.]
[Woody waves an arm towards the spot Buzz had previously been at a few feet away.]
Go.
["Places, people!" calls out Dolly, and everyone collapses to the floor and freezes in the ways they were when Bonnie saw them last. Woody falls with his hand on Forky's foot stick, holding him until toy instinct makes Forky collapse too at the sound of Bonnie's footsteps.]
[She bursts into the room just after Buzz falls into place, pulling a tiny wheeled suitcase her parents gave her to put her toys in.]
["Hi toys! We're going on a road trip! Nyoom!" she cries happily, and starts going around the room, picking out toys. "Hi Dolly! Hi Jessie! You're going and you're going. And you're going too, Buttercup!"]
[She opens the top of the suitcase and wheels it around instead of setting it down and opening it completely, dropping them through the gap into the depths inside.]
["Hi Buzz, we're going on a road trip, tooo infinity and beyond!" She presses Buzz's voice button and gets "This is a secret mission in uncharted space!" from his voice box. She gasps. "A secret mission? We'll have to bring our new space ranger, Forky!" Forky makes a few furtive attempts at escape when she's not looking but Woody successfully keeps him in place until she turns around and he freezes. "Where's Forky?" She spots him. "Forky! We're going on a road trip! To space!"]
[She picks up Woody to get him out of the way and then... doesn't put him in the bag. She temporarily throws him aside so he accidentally bangs into the closet door and then lands in the small pile of trash, picking Forky up instead. She lifts the spork toy up and hugs him to her as best as she can without poking herself, then turns away to put Forky and Buzz in her case.]
[The second she turns away, where Woody lay in the trash pile in a tangle of limbs, his chest suddenly jumps in a gasp of anguish. His face unfreezes and is stricken with a sudden expression of shock and betrayal.]
[Then Buzz is put in the backpack. She keeps stuffing more toys in that aren't Woody like Trixie and Rex. Then Bonnie's mom can be heard, muffled, telling Bonnie she's going to help her pack her clothes.]
["Are you done packing your toys?" "Yes!" "Don't forget your cowboy." The hand that drops Woody in the luggage is too large to be Bonnie's. He lands near Buzz, unfreezing and drawing his legs up after the case is zipped, looking at nothing at first, mouth gaping, chest rising and falling in little starts. The other toys are awkwardly silent, not wanting to call any attention to what just happened but not knowing what to say. Woody looks over at them, sees the pity, looks at Buzz and then looks away too fast to even see if Buzz has pity on his face, too.]
[The furtive gesture is one of deep embarrassment.]
[Forky is the one that breaks the silence, letting out a whine and trying to reach for the zipper to get out. "Uuugh, I don't want to go on a road trip. I want to go back to the trash." Woody slaps his pipe cleaner hand away from the zipper.]
Stop that. Look, road trips are a lot more fun than trash, I promise. You're going to love it.
[Forky keeps fighting him and Woody's wraps an arms around him firmly to keep him from squirming, then awkwardly clears his throat and speaks to the others.]
I'll just, uh, keep an eye on the little guy.
[Woody spares a look at Jessie, just to check and see if she's doing okay. Her breathing is a little fast but she's doing her breathing exercises. Woody briefly reaches out to pat her knee comfortingly - still able to care for his friend in spite of his embarrassment.]
Easy, Jessie. Bonnie will probably take us out to the RV soon enough.
[Then his arm goes back to Forky as he tries to jump for the zipper again. He holds him still and keeps looking at the cloth of the luggage, going back to avoiding all their eyes. They gradually start to talk in quiet voices but Woody stays silent.]
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Buzz shares the pity and concern in a glance with Jessie, whose hand he is already automatically holding in the small space. Her chest is rising and falling as she manages her panic, but even beyond her own discomfort, she's also looking with worry at Woody.
Who's managed, in his own distress, to still reach out to comfort her.
Buzz and Jessie exchange another look, as he squeezes her hand and puts his free hand on Woody's shoulder. Jessie lets go of his hand, and moves to Woody's other side, to put her hand on his shoulder too.
That was hard to see, and had to have been harder to experience.]
He's right, you know, [Buzz puts in, to Forky.] A toy's first road trip is one of the greatest adventures you'll ever experience. You won't believe how much fun a kid and her toys can have on one.
[How much fun they'll all have together.
Bonnie will come around. He has to believe it. Her attention will rotate, as is natural, and out on a grand adventure she'll become interested anew in Woody.
Hopefully.]
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[It what he needs right now. Everyone going on like everything's normal.]
[Woody lets Buzz and Jessie join him at both sides and scoots to try to give Jessie the most room as possible while she stays close, so she doesn't feel stifled. He doesn't look either of them in the face, but his shoulders relax slightly from how he'd had them hunched up with brittle tension.]
[Holding Forky practically in his lap, almost like a parent holding a child on their lap on a plane trip, he reaches his free hand up to hold onto Jessie's hand at his shoulder, returning the contact, giving her something to help ground her. He'd put an arm around her shoulders but they'd learned that always made her feel more boxed in. What comforted her most was a tether to something outside her anxiety but where she didn't feel smothered. Hand-holding was therefore usually the best.]
[He segues off of what Buzz said, and starts telling stories, hoping that it'll give Jessie something else to focus on, too.]
Oh yeah. They're always a good time. In fact, one time Buzz, Jessie, and I got taken on a road trip and we...
[And he fills the quiet with experience and whispered old stories and a promise of new things, because that's just what he does.]