The Doll

I remember the very first day.

The workroom was dark but the dusty sunlight coming through the window gave it a pleasant glow. I remembering seeing that, once I received my eyes. Those were the first things she stitched in, lovely eyes sewn with sky-blue thread; black buttons for pupils. And suddenly, I could see. I would’ve smiled, but she hadn’t sewn my mouth yet. I lay there, in the warm sunlight, watching as she filled up my body with soft, fluffy cotton and swiftly stitched me shut. Loose bits of cotton flew through the air like snowflakes, some landing gently in her hair as she smiled down at me.

“Someone’s going to love you,” she told me, as the needle dodged in and out of the cloth that made up my legs. “Some little girl is going to take you home.”

I was happy. I knew someone would love me eventually, but in the mean time it was enough that she loved me now. I watched as she stitched my body shut and gently dressed me. I got a blue checked dress and a lovely white ruffled top. I could imagine the skirt twirling around me. She braided my red yarn hair. In that little work room in the warmth of the afternoon sunlight, I felt beautiful.

When she finished making me, she took me out of the workroom into the brightness of the shop. There were electric lights in the shop and I felt exposed under their glare. The toy soldiers stood at attention, carved, painted and gleaming under the bright light. Toy trains ran round the shelves, their metal cars gleaming. There were stuffed bears and rabbits, toy cars and trucks and airplanes. Dinosaurs dominated their own corner of the shop. I think even the soldiers were too scared to bother them.

But what really caught my attention were the dolls. They were amazingly beautiful. And there were so many of them! There were porcelain dolls with painted faces and velvet dresses. There were baby dolls, still wrapped in their blankets. Dolls from China, with their shiny white faces and brightly colored kimonos. Fairy dolls with gossamer wings and shimmery gowns. Princess dolls with sparkling tiaras. I was excited to join them and honored to be one of them, to know that I was in the company of such beauty. I was the only with red hair, I noticed and felt an extra glow of pride.

She sat me down next to a small porcelain doll with black hair, propping me up against a shelf. She arranged my hair and fixed my dress. She smiled at me one more time before going back into the workroom.

Suddenly, it was silent and I was scared.

“Hello,” I said, to the little doll next to me. She wore a little girl’s dress, with red flowers on it. It was trimmed with lace and she wore shiny patent shoes. I thought she was very fancy and I wished she would be my friend.

“What’s your name?” I asked her.

“My name is Annabelle,” she answered frostily.

“Do you like it here, Annabelle?” I asked.

“I would thank you not to talk to me,” she sniped.

“Why not?”

I was completely bewildered. No one had ever been mean to me before.

“Because you are a just a simple yarn doll and I am a lovely porcelain doll,” she said, her head held high. “The porcelain to make me came all the way from France.”

“Oh,” I said, but I was still confused. “Why does that mean you can’t talk to me?”

“Because,” she said. “I am special. And you are not. And besides, no little girl will want me if she sees me associating with someone like you. No offense, dearie, but that is simply the way things are.”

I felt sad. And I had never felt more alone. I tried to speak with the other dolls but I got the same response. Some of them wouldn’t even respond when I called to them. I sat there in silence, hoping that some wonderful little girl would come and take me away and love me, but no one came into the store for the rest of the day.

Finally, the toymaker came back out of the workroom. She didn’t even look at me. She just walked straight past the dolls and turned out the lights. She locked the door and I heard her heels clicking against the sidewalk as she walked away from the store.

She was going home for the night.

Home, I thought, repeating the word over and over to myself. I had no home. But I would have one someday. And I tried to hold on to hope on that dark night, sitting in silence and waiting for someone wonderful to find me.

To be continued ...