Little Doll

People tend to forget the memories they create over time and more often they forget the objects with whom they created those memories. It wasn't a small occurrence for the little girl when she first met the round-faced and blushed cheeks doll. She convinced her mother in an instant to buy the doll. She never let it away from her eyesight when she was little. She clutched it to its body and placed it close to her heart like she was cooing a child. She would sing and talk to it. She washed her pink polka dots dress daily and she would comb its hair. The pastel color of the doll's skin looked real against the colorful smile on its face, permanent and etched into its face. She called it 'Little Doll', not 'Dollie', 'Barbie', 'Princess', but Little Doll. It became an unsaid ritual in the house to see the girl with the Little Doll. Tea parties happened more than often in the backyard and sips were taken from small empty cups. The little girl would adjust the dangly legs into different positions as she sat her on the small toy chair.

The patch of black woollen hair stitched into the dolls' head was petted regularly. The girl talked to the doll animatedly as if the lifeless object was talking back to her. It doesn't matter what the place was, be it the kitchen, garden, living room, bedroom; the doll meant to be stayed by her side. They were like two peas in a pod. It changed, however, like every other thing changes. It didn't last forever though. The girl grew up and the Little Doll was put down in an old wooden box and put away from everyone's eyes. The doll that was once showered every day was left to be spattered with dust and mist. The tangles in its hair remained unattended and lost its lustre. It's beady eyes reflected no light in them and its warm skin felt cold and untouched. The Little Doll lost itself inside the wooden walls.

Years passed and the house grew silent until one day a shrilling voice echoed through the walls and reached the wooden box. The voice was replaced by cacophonies, loud noises ousted the eerie silence and footsteps roamed the house, adventurous and excited as if trying to see everything at once. It stayed the same for a few days, noises in and out and footsteps thumping, leaping and squeaking against the floor. It took them a week's time to revisit the old room where the little girl once lived and found the lost piece of memory underneath the four-legged bed and as the small hands reached to grab the dusty storage box, a voice boomed and halted the movements of the young child.

"What are you doing?" the woman asked and walked towards the little girl. The girl bent down and stretched her hand to its length to reach the treasure chest and pulled it back with a look of satisfaction and hidden curiosity on her face. Her eyes shone under the light and she presented the box to her mother with a huge smile on her face.

"Look what I found!" She chimed. The mother bent down to get a closer look at the object.

"It is just an old box," the mother said not sharing the same level of excitement.

"Yes, but what is inside it?" The question prompted a chain of events in which the first one was the opening of the box.

The little girl awed at the beady eyes that stared back at her and the thread stitched in the shape of a smile on its face welcomed her. "Is she yours?" she asked her mother.

The mother frowned in response. "I don't remember if it is," She said and suddenly the stitched smile appeared a little frowned. "nevermind, it is old and dusty anyways. It's better to through it with the other trash we found in the house. The box looks in good condition though, let's see how it looks like after a good scrub."

"But...what about the doll?" the little girl asked exasperated.

"What about it? You have so many new dolls, it is an old one anyways,"

"You played with her when you were little, why can't I?"

The argument seemed valid at the point and the mother washed the old doll along with the wooden box. Both turned out to be in better condition after the little take caring.

The little girl would always keep the doll at a hand's distance and never let her out of her sight. She will take its one-hand walk around the whole house, again and again. She held her to her chest and warm its skin and she bathed her with bubbles and scented soaps. The tangles were attended to every day as part of the daily routine.

"What's her name anyway?" The brother asked one day at the dinner table.

"I don't know." The girl replied with her eyes fixed on the doll.

The brother looked annoyed suddenly. "What do you mean 'you don't know'? It is your doll. What do you call her?" he asked.

The girl looked curious and deep in thought. "What did you call her?" she looked up and asked her mother.

"I am not sure but I think I called her Doll," she said.

"Doll huh," the little girl gave it a thought before coming to a conclusion. "Little Doll! How does that sound?" she asked excitedly.

Heads nodded and everyone went back to the supper but the mother's hand halted in the air midway to her mouth. "Little Doll?" she whispered, suddenly remembering. Her heart skipped a beat and her eyes rushed to the doll.

The doll looked still as always but suddenly the stitched smile on her face looked a little more lively and it might be an error of sight but for a moment, the mother felt like the doll smiled back at her...