Dolly

THE GIRL

I see her as she suns herself, sitting in front of the low window, feet on the sill, dower house dress tucked between her blue lizard thighs.  She scratches the dry skin and the morning light is filled with the floating debris.  What is she?  Who is she, really?  All I know is that Dolly came to live with us when my father moved out, moved on, and left the girls to fend for themselves…the girls, my mom-my two sisters- me.

Dolly is our babysitter…not a nanny nor an au pair…but an old pensioner, who in exchange for room and board, watches after children.  What I do know is that she does not like me.  I am not sure why, but logic would dictate, that if my own father does not seek my company much less my affection, then why would this stranger find me worthy.

I find her stare unbearable.  She watches me differently than my younger sisters.  She singles me out for special treatment.  There is the brutal daily ritual of braiding my hair.  Dolly takes pleasure in yanking and pulling the plaits into order.  My sisters get loose, long curls which she lovingly winds around her fingers.  They are not made to drink her special concoction of milk and raw egg.  She insists that I am not healthy, and that is why she makes this special tonic for me alone.  I think she finds me different than the others, my sisters and my mom.  I am not so fair, not so pretty, skinny and lacking grace.

DOLLY

I see her, creeping around the corner.  The child does not care for me, and even more than that she resents me, not exactly hating me, but angry that I am here in place of the father who has abandoned, not just her, but the sisters and the mother. 

I came here from the agency to care for three children in exchange for room and board.  My pension is close to meager; my life is the same in that there is no one left for me.  This posting has been good, and I am comfortable in this house full of chaos, love and some strife. It gives me purpose.

Ah, but the girl.  She is the one. The very sight of her pierces my heart. She reminds me of my Lena, before the war and before my world lost its color.  We had a small patch of land which bordered the house.  Our summer garden gave up enough red and green for a whole winter.  The table always presented tomato and beans, lending us a flavor full of sunlight.  And then it didn’t.  Clyde was gone…not returning; the garden ruined and Lena wasted and taken with no hope to return either.  Why not leave and make a new life in a new place?

Here I am in a city different from where I lived my first life, with a family that is not mine. I borrow my place in this home and am finding that the girl will not have me.  I fear for her as she is very thin…I want her to grow past the age of my memory…past the time that Lena ceased to be.  I will be tough with her, make sure she is strong and invincible. I linger over her thick dark hair, brushing until it shines.  Her sisters are like little dolls, with soft features and lazy eyes. They are easy, but not the girl. She is the one with the memory of a father and a different home.  She is filled with sadness, as she is aware of what has been lost.  She is singular in her actions and thoughts.  I see in her the will and the heart to survive.  I am grateful to know her and to be a part of her life.  She does not know my story; I can only hope she will carry an ever so slight memory of me with her along what I know will be a very long journey.