About that day

Their hands are so big. Only the men. The lady hands are not so big, but that doesn’t mean I like it more when they touch my face, or pat my head. Some of them rub my head the way my sister rubbed a balloon at my birthday party to make it stick on the wall. Now my hair feels all fuzzy like my jammies when they come out of the dryer. And so many of them want to pick me up and hug me as tight as I hug my Thumbalina doll. Don’t they know I’m a real girl, not pretend? On a different day, Daddy told me he was taking my Thumbalina to the doll hospital when her head stopped moving. He still doesn’t know that when he left, my sister called me stupid for believing him. “Only a baby would believe there is a doll hospital. It’s a broken button that can’t be fixed. He’s gone to buy you at new one at the store.” When he gave me back my Thumbalina, she smelled different, but she looked exactly the same. I liked Daddy’s words better, so I hugged her like I always did, just like I did before he took her away, and then I hugged Daddy for real life, not the way these people are hugging me.

Who are these people anyway? Why do they all look so sad when they look at me? Some of them have tears on their cheeks, even some men. Do they know I am only 6 and grown ups are supposed to act in a nice and happy way around kids? At least that’s what most grown ups I see in our apartment building do, and also the other people, like my teacher and Mrs. Franco, the old lady that comes to watch us after school. But I’m forgetting to tell the whole story. Lately all of them, even Mrs. Franco look at me sad too. Have I been bad? Why don’t they tell me if I’ve been bad? I say my prayers and I don’t cry when it’s bedtime. I listen to the rules at home and at school and I play nice even on days when other kids are bad like Jimmy. He lied and told some kids I had cooties. Mrs. Wintz told Jimmy he would miss recess for being mean and lying, and I felt happy about that. Feeling happy is good, but being around all these sad people is starting to make me feel sad now and scared. I don’t like to be scared. Not even on that special scary day, Halloween, when kids dress up all spooky and say boo. Daddy said we could go out trick or treating when it was dark and I said no thank you. He let my sister go with her friends and she called me a baby before she left and I didn’t even care.

Daddy comes to me now in the crowd, not pushing all of the people out of the way, they just sort of move on their own, still looking sad, even the lady who got lipstick on my cheek. I know because it felt wet so I wiped it with with the back of my hand and saw the red. He takes my hand and leads me over to this very big box. If it is a present for someone, maybe they are lucky today, but when I ask Daddy what is in the box, he looks down at me and he says something wrong. “Say good-bye to your mother.” And he touches the box as if she is in there. Silly Daddy. Mommy is at the hospital. Doesn’t he know only dolls come in a box?