Mother's Doll

Something was really wrong, and Mom won't tell me why. My brain is muddled, and my stomach aches because I can't understand why she has been crying for weeks. But how could I? I'm only nine years old. I'm in fourth grade, trying to learn long division. I don't understand the adult world. I like to pretend the adult world doesn't exist, and then maybe Dad will come home, and perhaps they won't scream at each other anymore.

          I've shut my bedroom door, hoping it will muffle out my mother's cries. I even taped one of those "go-away signs" on my door, hoping she would get the message, although its origin was intended for my Brother. He's so obnoxious, coming in my room always unannounced, and when he thinks I don't know he's been inside, I find some of my items are never put back where I left them.

          I jump off my bed and reach under for a white wooden box my Godparents gave me at my baptism. It has my name on top in light pink with a pink cross outlined directly below and the date of my baptism. I open the lid and find the contents comforting- a feather from the garden, a postcard of a white cat, a tube of lipstick, glitter nail polish, and a beaded turquoise necklace. But the item I've hidden inside this box frightens me. And curiosity is asking me to look at it again.

          I pull out the doll and hold it directly before my face. My mouth frowns as though it's a dead thing that maybe was once alive. It's made from a burlap sack with white stitching holding it together. It's rough and coarse with two mismatched black button eyes held on by a red thread. Its mouth is also formed from a red thread in a cross-stitch pattern like it wants to talk to me, but it can't. Maybe a witch sowed up its mouth?

I jab my finger, pressing hard on a red-felt heart sewn on the front. I push hard several times, as the heart might suddenly start beating. When I found the doll, needles poked out of the heart, but I removed them. Should I put them back?

The needles are in the box near a corner. I grab them, putting one in the forehead, another in the heart, another in the stomach, and another in the foot. I nod at the doll. Why would my mother have this?

There's a knock on my door, followed by my mother calling my name.

"Yeah, Mom."

I rush to throw the doll back in the box, slamming the lid shut and kicking it underneath my bed.

The door flies open. My breath catches in my throat, and my mother and I lock eyes. She's been crying. She's red, and she clutches some Kleenex to her chest.

"I need you to come downstairs now. I need to talk to you about your father."

I move with urgency as Mom is already heading downstairs. I don't think she saw the doll.

Once downstairs, I see my little Brother sitting at the dining room table. He's dressed in his baseball uniform for practice with a glove on one hand. He refuses to make eye contact as he takes his other hand, forming it into a fist and punches it into his glove.

Mom motions for me to take a seat, and I do.

"Kids," Mom wipes her nose and throws the Kleenex into the trash. "As you probably have already realized. Your father has moved out."

"Why?" shouts my Brother. He refuses to look up.

"It's complicated, honey."

Is it that complicated? I wonder.

"But that's not why I brought you downstairs today. Something serious has happened to your father, and he's in the hospital.

Both my Brother and I look up at Mom, learning this news. Stillness settles in the kitchen, and the sun continues to shine, flooding the kitchen with light, mocking us with a beautiful day full of blue skies.

Mom bites her bottom lips and takes a turn, looking at both of us in our eyes. "Whatever happens between your father and I is between your father and I, but I need you to know that he will always be your father."

Our marked silence says we understand.

"So what happened to him?" I ask.

"He had a heart attack, and now he's in a coma."

"What's a coma?" Brother asks. He punches his hand into the glove again.

"It's like a deep sleep; we might never know if he will wake up again."

I begin to sweat and desperately try to find a safe place to rest my eyes, landing on the salt and pepper shaker in the middle of the table.

"The doctors don't know why this happened," says Mom. "But I need to ask both of you a random but serious question."

Only I look up to meet Mom's imploring eyes.

"There was a doll in my room. It's an ugly doll with mismatched button eyes made from stiff brown material. It was in my closet, and I can’t find it. Did either of you take it?"

"Why do you have a doll?" Brother furrows his brow with distaste. "Kids play with dolls, not adults. That's so weird."

"Well, it's something Mommy made when visiting Grandma in Louisiana. And well, if you have it, I need it back."

"I don't have any doll," returns Brother with disgust.

"Do you have my doll?"

I breathed in slowly before answering. "No," I lied.

"Well, if either of you finds it, will you return it to Mommy? It's dangerous because pins are sticking out of it and could poke you."

Brother was starting to get up from the table. "Why would you have this strange doll?"

"That's not the point, honey. And please sit back down. I got a call from Granny, your father's mother; she wants to see you kids tomorrow. So when you get back home from school, she will be waiting."

We nodded our heads in agreement, and Brother ran from the table.

Granny was prompt the next day. We climbed into her old Volvo as she drove us across town.

"Where are we going?" I sat in the front seat, watching life pass me by from the passenger window. It was hot out today, and I felt sticky. Granny wouldn't run the air-conditioning, so I had to settle for a crack in the window. It offered little relief.

"We're going to see your father?"

I snapped my head in her direction. "Really?"

"Yes, really. Your Mom can't keep you from your father." She kept her gaze straight ahead, and her lips dipped into a hard frown.

"Mom says Dad has coma."

Granny shakes her head and looks back at Brother through the rearview mirror. "He's in a coma. He doesn't have a coma. Whatever." She waves her hand in the air. "You kids need to see him. Plus, I need to see what's going on. No one at that hospital can give me a straight answer on why he had a heart attack or was it something else?"

We filed out of the car and followed behind Granny into the hospital. I hate this place with its sterile lighting and the smell of plastic rotting in vinegar. Granny checks in with the nurse, and she points us in the direction of Dad's room.

Another nurse stopped us after an elevator ride, and another hallway followed by two sharp turns.

Granny and her exchange words, and I try to eavesdrop. Brother seems disinterested, staring at his dirty tennis shoes caked with mud. I can't believe he is allowed in this environment with those disgusting tennis shoes. But then again, I'm not that clean, either. My shirt feels wet from the car ride here.

Granny steps back from the nurse, and both of her hands settle to either side of her face. Her mouth drops open in surprise. "What do you mean his condition is worse."

"I'll have the Doctor talk with you in a moment. But his heart stopped today. We had to shock him back to life."

"Does anyone know what is going on in this hell hole?" shouts Grandma.

Now I'm scared, and I can tell my Brother is scared too!

"I want to see my son now! And what do you mean he has a broken foot and a broken rib? What negligence is this hospital responsible for? I swear I am going to sue this place and bankrupt it."

"Mam, please get ahold of yourself," says the nurse. Her eyes dart from left to right, making a "shh-ing" noise.

Grandma turns to Brother and me. "Go to the waiting room while I deal with these idiots. Nothing is making sense. His condition shouldn't be getting worse, and it's apparent someone is beating him."

I grab my Brother's hand and pull him in my direction. Thankfully, no one is in the waiting room.

I take a seat, and I may faint. Why is this happening?

"What's wrong with you?" asks Brother.

I look up to meet his gaze. "Are you not worried about Dad?"

"Yes, but it's not like I can do anything. Granny will fix it. Mom will do something,"

I shoot up out of my chair. "Mom's not gonna do anything. She hates Dad. Wake-up! Have you not seen how they have been fighting? She lied to us about going to Louisiana. She kept that a secret and that damn doll."

"Ah! You cussed."

"Shut up." I want to cry and scream, but I know it's futile to do either. Nothing I can do can change the situation.

Granny appears in the waiting room. "Your mother is on her way to pick you up," she says matter-of-factly.

"Can we see Dad?" Brother asks.

"No, I am sorry. His condition is terrible. And now he's black and blue like someone came into the room in the middle of the night and beat him all over with a baseball bat. I'm going to sue this hospital. I promise you. I am going to sue them for every penny they have. I am going to shut this place down."

Brother's eyes swell with tears, but I can't control Granny and I know she won't sue the hospital. She's full of desperate threats to ease her frustrations.

The car ride home is full of an unhappy silence.

I run up to my room and slam the door close. I jump onto my bed in my dirty, sweaty clothes and curl into a ball.

Why is this happening? What did my Brother and I do to deserve this? This isn't fair.

I lay like that for a few hours and notice the sun starting to go down. I take a deep inhale before getting out of bed. I want to shower, but I stop and crouch down, pulling out the white box from under my bed. The doll is still there. I feel nothing for it, but then I think about Mom- why does she want this doll?

I take out all the pins and collect them into the palm of my hand. And Mom was right; I've pricked my finger. There's a drop of blood. It's a perfect little drop, and it's falling. It landed on the carpet.

OH NO! How do I get the blood out?

 I panic. I stab all the needles directly into the doll's heart and throw it back into the box, and immediately suck my index finger noticing the metallic taste. I thought pricking myself would hurt worse, but it didn't.

I go out into the hallway, and I can hear my Mom crying from her room. I have to believe that she will make everything right with Dad. She has to try. She has to do the right thing for my Brother and me.

I push open her bedroom door and see her sitting on the edge of the bed with her iPhone in her hand.

"Mom, are you ok?

"No, honey. I'm not ok. I need to ask you this again. And I need you to tell me the truth. Have you seen my doll?"

"Mom, is Dad going to be ok?" There's panic in my voice, and my feet and knees feel weak, like they might give out on me any second.

"I don't know, honey. His condition at the hospital doesn't make any sense, and although I am very hurt by your father. Very hurt. The hurt involves another woman, so it won't make any sense to you because you're a child. Just know, I never meant for this kind of pain. I thought I could hurt him a little and- You're Bleeding!"

She runs from her bed and grabs my hand, examining the line of blood running from my finger to my wrist. Her expression changed, and her eyes met mine. I'm frozen into place, and I can't move.

"You have my doll."

I don't say anything, and suddenly, we are interrupted by a phone call. Mom looks down to see who is calling. " It's the hospital. Don't go anywhere. You are giving me my doll back."

I dashed from her bedroom as she answered the call like I was being chased. I collapse next to the box on the floor to give her back that stupid doll. A doll that I hate. I hate it so much. I pull off the lid but don't look down because of a scream.

That was Mom, and why was she screaming?

I drop the lid and run back into the hallway. Mom is on the floor in the doorway, crying uncontrollably. She looks like a shadow that can't get up as the light from her bedroom floods over her. I feel helpless, and I start to cry.

"Mom, I have your doll. I am so sorry I took it. I am sorry." I whale through gasps of air.

Mom turns her eyes to me; it's a look I've never seen before, cold and foreboding. "Your father is dead. You killed him."

I see, feel, and hear nothing.

"It was your damn doll," I scream. I scream it again.

I run back into my room and throw off the lid of my box. I'll give her back that damn doll, but it's not here.

It's not here.

It's not here.

Where is it?

I dump everything from the box onto the floor, throwing the contents in every direction, looking above and underneath my bed, even on my desk.

It's not here.

I run out into the hallway to my Brother's room. He has it. He's the only one who could have taken it. I turn the light on in his dark room, but he's not there. His bed is made, and all his belongings are tidy and situated. His baseball glove sits beside his bed on the nightstand, waiting for him.

"Mom, where is Brother? He has your doll. He took it from my room." I am wiping off tears from my face as I walk through the house- looking for him.

"What do you mean your Brother has the doll?" Mom has me by the shoulders. She's shaking me. "We need to find that doll, now!"

"I had it in my box, but now it's not there."

"Find your Brother now." Mom lets go and runs into his room, and seeing that he is not there, she runs downstairs, calling his name.

I search every room, every hiding place, the garage, and the car. I run outside, calling his name, hoping the evening wind will carry his name far and wide, reaching him. But why would he run away? And why would he run away with a doll?

I have no Father, no Brother, and now no Mother. This is her fault. She made the doll; she brought it into our lives. Oh God, I have no one I can trust.