Like many fans of The Legend of Zelda, I have an assortment of various figures, models, and other tchotchkes declaring my undying love for Link, Zelda, and their various friends in Hyrule. I have nearly a dozen amiibo representing the Zelda games, a few other figurines, a Nendoroid or two, a poster, some puzzles, plushies — you know, the works for a nerd with more expendable income than shelf space to store it all on.
One particular bit of Zelda merchandise, however, is a bit more special in its own way than any of the others. I didn’t just head out to the store and buy it, nor did I even win a heated eBay auction for it or discover it on sale in some garage sale.
No, this particular Link, I had to rescue myself.
I was driving along the road one day, leaving work for my noon lunch break, and was less than a mile from my house when I saw it.
Cruising along at 40 miles per hour, it wasn’t much of a glimpse. It was mostly a flash of green and white, distinct from the green grass on which it lay due to its lighter shade and the crumpled dimple it made along the roadside ditch I passed every single day.
I was already past it when my mind, processing what it had just seen for a mere second or so, suddenly informed me, “I think that looked like Link.”
Mind you, whatever I’d seen was a limp bit of fabric, barely distinguishable as anything at all, notable at all primarily for standing out as clearly something artificial and manmade in the midst of an otherwise sylvan landscape.
But apparently my mind is so focused on Zelda that, even when I’m not consciously thinking of it, it can easily recognize something of Zelda origin with only a moment’s glimpse.
I didn’t question the impression, at least not enough to stop my next impulse: I pulled off to the side of the road, stopped the car and got out to walk back the hundred-or-so yards to where I’d seen the abandoned Link I was only half-sure I’d seen.
Had I really seen it? Couldn’t it have been something else? Wasn’t this sort of silly? All of these thoughts ran through my head during the march along the roadside, but I was committed to my mission now. Either I would find a Link of some sort, or I would at least discover what I’d really seen and consider finding other hobbies to indulge in to stop the sudden onset of Zelda hallucinations.
I reached the spot where I’d seen Link. It was not a hallucination.
It was, in fact, a backpack of sorts, in the shape of Toon Link from Wind Waker and its aesthetic successors. The tag officially declared it as merchandise accompanying Spirit Tracks. It was a full reproduction of the cartoonish rendition of Nintendo’s favorite Hylian hero, with a zipper in his hat that opened to reveal a nylon-line storage space to stash things in.
It was battered and dirty from whatever fate had seen it abandoned alongside a hot, lonely Georgia road at the edge of suburbia, but it was in good shape for the most part. Sheltered by the trees, it had avoided the worst of the sun’s ravages and it wasn’t damp, so it likely hadn’t been there for very long.
I looked at it. It wasn’t the cutest rendition of Toon Link I’d ever seen. I had two or three figurines, amiibo and otherwise, representing this version of him already. It was too small for a grown man to wear, and I hardly needed a backpack anyway, especially not one that could carry as little as this one did.
So, of course, I dusted him off, slung him over one shoulder and took him home.
He went through the wash, obviously, before anything else could be done with him. After all, I had no idea where this Link had been before he was unceremoniously dumped on the side of the road. But once he was clean, I hung by the thread attached to his head off a door knob on a closet and officially welcomed him to my collection of Zelda knickknacks and geegaws.
I sometimes wonder if I did the right thing in bringing him home. Was his seeming abandonment just a careless error? Did some harried parent bring their tearful child to this roadside spot after my impromptu intervention, only to discover further heartbreak on finding their accidental loss was now most assuredly permanent?
I don’t, and can’t, know the answer to that. But Link is certainly thriving with me, hanging out with the rest of the collection and avoiding any heavy lifting or hard labor that his role may have once required. He’s not my favorite bit of Zelda merch, but he has perhaps the best story accompanying his arrival.
And, of course, he’s a personal testament to my undying Zelda affection, proof that even a momentary glimpse of something Zelda related is enough to grab my attention.
