I'm not your Barbie

chapter two

Okay, I sigh, looking around the room, there's nobody here...

Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, I notice movement. Turning swifty I spot the source, it's a spinny, black leather chair. It's facing so that I can't see the seat, or if anybody's sitting there.

I gasp, as it starts to move.

And then begin laughing, so hard that I clutch my stomach. There's a twenty-ish year old guy sitting there. Stroking a fluffy toy rabbit. He says in as sinister a voice as possible; "I've been expecting you..."

Hell, that was bad.

"Okay. Moving on?" I ask, sitting down in a chair.

"Ye-" he begins before I interupt him.

"Before you ask, there's no such thing as 'I have my own Merchandise Anonymus' or a 'dolls and action figures meeting' and no, I would not like to take up yoga, as much as you might think it helps. I've tried it before, and I couldn't walk for a week." I say , hoping to get this done as quickly as possible.

He takes a sip of coffee, and puts it down again, spilling a little in the process.

He? I need a better name than that...

"What do I call you?" I ask bluntly.

"Finn," he says, pushing back a lock of blonde hair.

So vain. I shake my head, and lean back on the chair, it's kind of comfy.

"So, what do I do? Write down all my troubles and flush them down a toilet, or maybe throw them from the top of the Eiffel Tower? Beach magic? Draw you an abstract picture of my feelings? Confide in a pet? Write a letter to God?" I, need to know, then I can have it done.

"No," my therapist says, "I just want you to tell me about yourself, then we can go from there."

I huff and fiddle with frayed cotton on my denim shorts, this could take forever.

"Well, I'm just going to tell you what you want to hear, why I'm even here in the first place," I began. Finn nodded. "When I was around thirteen years old, there was a big craze about a fifty year old doll from Germany. Aparently, it was a fresh and original aspect on girl's toys, so Mattel decided they wanted to recreate this doll, but make more modern. They sent out scouts in every country, in search of the perfect girl to not only base the doll on, but use her life story as the doll's as well. Of course, they had to choose me."

Finn was nodding, taking notes here and there. As if he cared. I began to get angrier, louder.

"They changed my name from Barbara, to Barbie, as if I hated Barbara enough," I spat, "they made my hair blonde, creating the image that I was just a stupid bimbo, they made the most, tight, revealing clothes ever, clothes that you should never encourage a five year old girl to wear. And even though they changed all those seemingly unimportant details in my life, it was still me. It was my life, and it still is. They made the fudging doll of my ex boyfriend, they made minature dolls of my familly, but didn't even give me any parents. They made songs including the words; 'you can touch, you can play,' and films about me falling in love with a NUTCRACKER. Don't I get a say in my life? Couldn't I just write part of the film where I'm the leading actress? No. And now everyone knows me as 'Barbie', everyone only wants to know the famous doll, or the image that was made for me, a million sizes too big. Guys only talk to me because they think I'm stupid and weak, an acessory, 'look everybody! I've got my own life size Barbie.' I want to slap those stupid grins off their faces. Now do you see why I'm like this?" I'm hysterical now, shaking uncontrollably, the mascara that isn't there running down my cheeks.

My so called 'therapist' is staring at me blankly, like a shocked goldfish. He takes a few more notes, and snaps the book shut, making me jump.

"Well?" I ask, staring at him with menace.

"I need some time to think over this information, I'd like to see you again next week." He says, but I barely hear his words as I stare out of the open window, and watch two birds flying, side by side.

"Well? Are you listening?"

I finally hear his words, and nod. Getting up I walk out as quickly as possible, slamming the door behind me.

He actually wants me to come back, I think.

As soon as I'm out of the building I run.

My feet pound on the hot pavement and my heart is jumping in my ribcage, I don't know where I'm going, but I need to get away, I need time to breathe.

Suddenly I slow. I'll stop here. I lay down on the cool grass and let the birdsong take over as I count each steady breath, in, out, in out. Kicking off my shoes, I close my eyes and let the sun warms my face, it's peaceful here, almost tranquil.

It starts to rain, just a light shower, and I open my arms to it, laughing. The rain falls on my face, and washes away my tears. I think I'll stay here for a while...