The Doll Part 2

The next day I woke to the bright sunlight warm on my face and I felt cheerful. I knew children would come today. Maybe one of them would take me home.

Home. Just the word sounded safe and bright and I couldn’t wait until I found one. I held my breath as I heard the tinkling of the doorbell.

It was a little boy with a wild mop of brown hair. His mother attempted to hold him by the hand but as soon as they entered the shop he raced over to the dinosaurs.

“You may choose one toy, John,” his mother said, trying to make herself heard over the growling and roaring noises. Apparently, each dinosaur had its own voice and John wasn’t going to rest until he had spoken to each one.

He continued, completely obsessed by the toy beasts, while his mother chatted with the store owner. I couldn’t hear what they were saying over the noise of the dinosaurs.

Time passed and eventually John left the store with a stegosaurus happily tucked under his arm.

I have to say I was relieved. I didn’t want to go home with a little boy anyway, particularly not such a loud one.

After lunch a little girl came into the store, primly holding on to her mother’s hand. She had long blonde hair in two pigtails and she wore a blue dress. She did not smile and I should have known that she was not the girl for me.

Her mother, a tall, thin woman with sallow cheeks, began to speak to the child.

“Now, Emma,” she said sweetly. “I promised you that if you were good, you could pick out a dolly. There are lots of lovely ones here. Which one would you like?”

Emma strode across the store like a queen at the head of an army and stared hard at us, inspecting us as though we were poorly behaved soldiers.

“That one’s dress is not pretty enough,” she said, pointing to a lovely china doll in a kimono.

“And those are much too … babyish,” she pronounced, her little finger stabbing in the direction of the baby dolls.

“That one’s hair is too light,” she decided, passing judgment on a pretty blonde-haired doll in a green dress.

“How about this one?” her mother asked, holding me up for her to look at.

“Mother!” cried Emma, wrinkling her nose. “That one is just ugly! How could you think that I would ever like that?”

Decidedly, I did not like the looks of Emma either. Her nose was too pointy and her lips were too thin. But I was too polite to say such things, even if I could talk. Still, being insulted, even by such an unappealing little girl, hurt my feelings immensely.

Emma’s mother put me down like I was on fire, immediately stepping away from me and I did my best to hide my face. I am ashamed to say it, but I was fighting hard not to cry.

Eventually, the little girl chose a doll, a dark-haired one in a deep blue velvet dress, and marched proudly out of the store. Only then did I allow myself to cry.

A few more children came in that day, but I did not notice them. Instead, I hid my face and tried to bury my tears in my dress. I knew that I was not like any of the other dolls in the store, but now, for the first time, I felt ugly and I could not stop the tears.