A Collection of Short Stories and More

The Doll

The spiel my father gave me nearly every time I left the house was getting old. I was long past the moment I realized I could recite the speech backwards and it followed me into my nightmares. I tuned back in a few seconds before my scheduled response.

"...and home by nine," he finished.

"Okay, but I do have to pick up and drop off Maddie."

"You know Sara, as a Christian, you should obey your parents."

"Okay."

There was nothing that fueled him more than me passively reacting to his Bible thumping daily reminders. I always said it breezily, like I was brushing the scriptures off my shoulders. He still put the key in my hand and allowed me to leave the house. I drove to Kris's house, instead of Maddie's. I always used Maddie as a placeholder when I wanted to hang out with Kris. She lived far enough that my parents wouldn't likely run into her. She also hardly left her house.

I felt more excited with each passing minute and equally as anxious. Partly because I'd be seeing Kris, but partly because I was defying my father, and there was always the possibility that he'd catch me. I tapped the wheel to the pop song that was playing over the radio as I waited for Kris to come outside. He did a few minutes later, sliding on the other half of his jacket over his chocolate skin. He pulled the door up and began to give himself a pat down. He looked as he always did when I saw him: flustered. He turned back to grab his keys from the door. I closed my eyes and counted to ten, taking deep breaths.

"...eight...nine...ten."

He put his hand on the handle when I exhaled for the last time. Being alone with him wasn't the problem, we'd been alone plenty, although my father knew nothing about that and hopefully never would. I developed a crush on Kris after years of being friends, so more recently being alone entailed clammy hands, being too nervous to speak comprehensive sentences, and not breathing.

My father wasn't Kris's biggest fan. Hell, he was hardly a fan to begin with, even when we were merely seven years old. I wasn't banned from being around him in a group setting, which was normal for us at school and at our weekly writing club meetings, but he made it clear that under no circumstances was I to be alone with Kris. When I realized he had a problem, I stopped bringing Kris' name up, and my father stopped asking about him.

I managed to not embarrass myself while I drove to Rizzo's, the local coffee chain that Kris and I spent most of our alone time at. I tried to talk to Kris but he had his phone out, checking his social media DMs. They were always stocked full of girls wishing and dreaming that they could be with him just as I was, not nearly as bad as I was. For the first time since he got in, I noticed his cologne. It was usually the first thing I noticed. It was smooth, sweet, and subtle. It was a scent my father hated. I kept an air freshener with me when I used his car. I waited for Kris to get out and walk slightly away from the car before I sprayed. He didn't know that my father hated him. How was I supposed to tell him that?

Kris kept mute until we sat down at a table with our drinks. He put his phone face down on the table, which I appreciated. We were here to talk about our writing outside of the club. He liked to go over things line by line, word by word. I wanted to spend as much time away from my father as possible.

"Alright, what have you got for me?" he asked.

"Something new," I said. "I felt inspired."

I pulled out the weathered leather notebook I carried with me everywhere. The spine was holding on by Scotch tape. It was nothing close to a new sight to him. I told him it was called 'The Doll' and scooted a little closer to him so I wouldn't have to read as loud.