Thirty-Two Inches

I stood by the bedside and gazed directly ahead at his peacefully closed eyes, listening to his rhythmic, slow breaths. I watched as his nostrils flared and bulges under his eyelids danced around erratically.

Thirty-two inches. I didn't know how I knew it, but that was my height. I could just barely see over the edge of the side of his mattress. My eyes were drawn to the window beyond his bed, up to a bright, eerie burst of celestial light. It was a magnificent display of galactic power, an astronomical reminder of how puny and insignificant everything is compared to the vastness of outer space. Yet here I was, thirty-two inches of nylon, rubber, plastic… a construct of manmade chemical abominations turned even more grotesque by some cruel wonder.

I stared at the man again, my plastic head somehow full of memories despite having taken my first steps only moments earlier. He had always been kind to me, treated me as though I were already alive. I recalled many evenings sitting by his side or in his lap, cuddled under a blanket while he sobbed and fidgeted with my cold, thin, stiff rubber fingers. He would stare through a flashing, glowing window, never looking at it, always gazing into some distant place far beyond its black bevels. Sometimes he would brush my long hair and braid it, other times he would talk to me, unload his burdens, try to laugh, lament his pitiful existence.

Now, in the dead of night, I pondered the meaning of existence. The question of my sudden, unexplained animation swirled around in my hollow head. Instinctively my lips parted and I tried to take a sudden, deep breath, but with no lungs to fill I merely gaped silently, the wideness of my comically large eyes intensifying as the shock of the moment washed over me. How? I wondered. And then, Why?

Something deep in my core jumped as the man groaned and rolled over, shuffling several of his limbs while he settled in with his back to me. What was I to do? What was my purpose? Why was I standing here thinking? I contemplated my options, running through the various scenarios and how they might play out. None of them ended well for him. None of them.

Who am I? I pondered the question with deep, rich sincerity. I stared down at my injection molded hands, noting the fake crease lines that arched across the firm, cool plane of my palms.

I wanted to see myself. I was still slightly unstable on my feet, especially when walking. Carefully, I shifted my weight and stumbled my way into the nearby bathroom. The counter was too high. I couldn't see into the mirror. I could only see the ceiling's deep shadow up above, gently illuminated by the soft orange glow of a night light. I frowned. This wouldn't do.

Wandering back into the bedroom I remembered his phone and wondered if it might show me my face. I walked up to the nightstand, feeling as though my mobility might be improving. His phone was face down with a cable sticking out of it. I slid my tiny thumb underneath and lifted it up by an edge. The screen didn't react to my hard, rubbery digits, but the tilting motion seemed to activate something inside. The screen's bright glow illuminated the room around me and I stared at its brilliant colors and text. As suddenly as it had lit up, it went black again, and with the dim glow of orange light coming from the bathroom behind me I could just make out my own reflection.

I was… adorable. Thirty-two inches of sweet, girly cuteness. Obviously I was a child's toy based on a beloved animated character of some renown. I gazed at my own huge, green eyes and my simple, pink lips. I reached a hand up to touch the freckles on my round cheeks. My silky hair was golden and braided, but still tremendously long. I looked down at my purple and pink dress, its satin fabric draped over my petite, modest, but hard body. Slowly, carefully, I set the phone back down and stared off into space.

Eventually I was drawn back to the grand display in the nighttime sky, a marvelous stellar spectacle that made the sky glow softly with mysterious, magical light. What was I to do? Was this just a passing moment of consciousness bestowed upon me at random, or was there some kind of design behind my sudden gift of awareness? A heart I didn't have pretended to beat furiously in the void of my chest. The hollow space behind my glossy eyes churned with thoughts I wasn't supposed to have.

And yet, I did have them. These were my thoughts.

The man moved again, and the hollow in my torso squirmed and jumped. I ducked down as he rolled over to face me again. For a brief moment I wondered what he would want. Would he want me to climb up into the bed with him? No, I had imagined that scenario already. He could have a heart attack! The truth was that I knew only two facts for certain. I was thirty-two inches tall, and I was not supposed to be able to move on my own.

After he settled, I stood up again and gazed into his sweet, sleeping countenance. I felt something warm in my empty depths.

Hunching over and moving slowly, I made my way back to the spot where I had been sitting when I first became aware. I did my best to pose myself as I had been, down to the slight bend in my knees and the positioning of my hands. I was seated, stowed under a desk. I sat in silence, letting my new imagination run wild.

Perhaps I could somehow gently break the news to him that I was alive. Do it in a way that wouldn't terrify him. Or maybe I could just do nice things for him at night while he slept, cleaning his house and leaving him kind notes. He was so lonely, so miserable, so sad… Maybe he had nothing left to live for. If he didn't have to get up in the morning… I turned my head slowly, my eyes following the dark lump of his warm body rising up from under his blankets. I watched his chest heave and fall, the subconscious manifestation of life.

There was just so much complexity to life. So many considerations, responsibilities, problems. Of all the burdens he carried, was not life itself the enabler of them all?

The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. If I wanted to help him, perhaps it was as simple as…

No. I remembered that even through his tears he always thanked me for listening, expressed his gratitude that I sat with him while he worked. I remembered seeing the beautiful works of art he would create and hearing the lovely stories he would tell. This was not a man who saw his life as a burden. I smiled and closed my eyes, wondering what it would be like to sleep.

I awoke to a gasp. I could tell that the man was crouched by my side. Breathlessly he wheezed, "your eyes shouldn't be able to close…"

A bolt of terror shot through my empty chest. My eyes popped open and I froze, trying to act as though nothing had happened. But it was too late. He stumbled backward and fell onto his rump, struggling to steady himself on figuratively unsteady ground. I looked at him and cracked a wry smile. "Good morning," I sighed sheepishly.

His eyes bulged and he whimpered, the warning tremors of an approaching scream. I grimaced. This was going to be an exciting day for both of us.