Weeks passed and gradually, I began to fall into a the rhythm of a regular life. I got up early in the morning and went to school each day of the week. Father would always take me, saying that he'd never let me ride the bus, no matter how much I begged him; they'd soil me. Other than that, everything was fine. Bailey kept bringing me things, like some of her old jewelry that she never wore, or an issue of Seventeen magazine that I'd have to hide from Father until I was safely tucked away in my room. Paul continued to tease her during lunch and eventually the others joined in too. It was like I had my own little family.
It was a Wednesday when Father decided to pick me up early. He complained that it wasn't good for me to stay in that building for as long as they made me. He said that I needed fresh air, and that too many people were breathing that air at the same time. It would soil me. He seemed indifferent to the fact that I thoroughly enjoyed school, but it was just his ways.
"You've had enough of public school now, haven't you?" he asked on the ride home, "I mean, I think it's silly to continue this. You've experienced it, so why not quit and come back home?"
"Because I don't want to Father," I sighed, "I've told you. I'm finally making friends. And besides, there's always more to experience there. It's never-ending!" I exclaimed.
"What will you do when those friends of yours suddenly decide to stab you in the back?" Father pressed. He seemed convinced that someday I'd suddenly hate school and come rushing back to him.
"I promise if anything happens I'll quit immediately," I told him before quickly adding, "And I'll never complain about your math lessons again."
Father cracked an empty smile at my promise, "I know. It's just I worry, and I miss you at home. There are so many dangerous things out there Charlotte. I just don't want any of them to touch you," he said.
I fell silent after that. Father never brought the conversation up again and the rest of the ride home was bare. Father didn't want me going to public school anymore, but when I told him I liked it, he just couldn't seem to say no to me.
The rest of the week passed quickly and Father never brought up the subject of quitting again. As the weekend hit I swiftly realized how dependent on school I had really become. My life had started to revolve around it and the group of friends Sam had brought me in to.
Father stayed holed up in the basement, working on his latest project, only coming out to go on a delivery or when I forced him to get some light and eat something. He would never let me go down and see what he was working on. He didn't like me down there for some strange reason. I didn't mind, though.
Sunday morning I was lying in bed, staring out the window with my Seventeen magazine sticking out from under my pillow case. I'd been reading it all last night. Bailey had loved pointing out the models I looked like when she first gave it to me, but whenever I looked at it I couldn't see the resemblance, not even when I stood up and stared at myself in the mirror for minutes before turning back to the magazine to compare.
Birds chirped noisily outside and I searched the trees, trying to see what they looked like. I yearned to escape outside. I needed sunlight and the grass between my toes, and maybe, just maybe, I'd see Sam walking by again.
But my wish would never be granted. Not with Father in the basement anyways. He could hear the back door creaking open from a mile away. So, I sighed softly, plopping my head back on the pillow. I'd already finished my homework, and there was nothing left for me to do. I was bored out of my mind.
Finally, I resorted to trying to draw Father from the basement so I'd have someone to do something with. I sat up in the bed before swinging my legs over the side and pushed myself up. Making my way over to the door I slipped on a pair of socks so that my feet wouldn't make as much noise on the hardwood floors. Father didn't like it when I disturbed him by pacing the hallways, my feet slapping on the uneven boards.
I was almost to my bedroom door...when the doorbell rang. Blinking in surprise I hurried back to my bay window, trying to see who was at the door, but the porch was too far over for me to get a good look. I could hear Father's boots pounding up the basement stairs as he hurried to get the door. My curiosity was still flaring inside me, so as Father made his way to the front door, I crept down the hallway, inching along until I could peek around the corner and get a good view of the entrance way.
I heard the thick, white door swing open and Father step up, "Yes, what is it?" he demanded, keeping his voice plain and unfriendly, like he always did with unexpected visitors.
That's when I heard his voice. It was a voice I'd been hearing everyday for the past few weeks. I heard it in the hallways, at lunch, and even in a few of my classes at school. It had become so familiar that the voice filled me with a sense of happiness and belonging each time it reached my ears.
"Is Charlotte home?" Sam asked, "If you don't mind, Sir, I'd like to speak to her," he continued.
Father seemed a bit taken aback, as if he didn't expect someone to be randomly appearing on our front porch, asking for me. Of course, I was probably as surprised as he was. I didn't expect Sam to show up at my house on a Sunday.
"Um..." Father began, hesitating for a moment, as if he was thinking his words through carefully, "Not right now, she's busy," he finished.
Stunned at his answer I stepped out from my hiding place behind the wall, "What are you talking about Father?" I asked, "I'm not busy."
Father and Sam both turned as I emerged, however, as Sam smiled gently at me Father's expression was stern and cold.
"You weren't before, but I was just about to ask you to come downstairs and help me with something," Father told me, although the words seemed directed more at Sam, "It'll probably be quite lengthy. I need to get this job finished as quickly as possible, so there's no time for chatting," he continued.
I could hear the underlying message of his words, aimed directly at Sam. Go away, they screamed, You're not welcome at this house.
Sam seemed to understand as well. "I guess I'll just have to talk to her at school then," he said, causing Father to turn his attention back to the doorway, "I'm sorry to have disturbed you." With that he turned towards me, and with a slight sympathetic smile he said, "I'll see you at school tomorrow, Charlotte," And then hurried down the steps and headed out to a beat up, red, Chevy parked out front that I hadn't noticed earlier.
Father slammed the front door shut and my view of Sam disappeared. I suddenly turned to him, annoyed, "Why would you tell him that? You never let me down to help in the basement anyways, so why lie to him?" I demanded.
"Because I don't want you talking to people like him," he replied hastily, "They don't know what they're talking about half the time and most of them would be willing to throw their life away without a second thought," he continued, "They have no appreciation for themselves and the others around you. I won't have their reckless attitude rub off on you, Charlotte. I've raised you better than that."
"But, Father," I began, "He's not like that. He's my friend!" I protested.
"You may think that but I guarantee that one day your decision to call him your friend will come back to bite you in the ass!" I flinched, never hearing him curse before, "And you're not going to school tomorrow, either. You need a chance to clear your mind of all that garbage he's been filling it with," Father stated, his conviction clear by the fire in his eyes.
Before I could protest Father turned on his heels and vanished back into the basement. The door shut and locked behind him and the clanking of his boots on the steps faded away. It seemed I wouldn't be going down there to help him after all.
I just didn't understand why Father had gotten so upset about Sam. Maybe if he met Sam he'd feel a bit different about it. I needed to apologize to Sam for what had happened, but that had to wait until Tuesday it seemed. One more torturous day away from what I had grown to love so much. I only hoped he would understand.
Making my way back to my room I glanced out the bay window as Sam's Chevy pulled away from the curb, rumbling down the street. I didn't stop watching it until it rolled out of site as it turned a corner. Sam, just understand, I prayed silently.
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YOU ARE READING
Dolls
Teen FictionI am not real. I breath and speak. I have a heartbeat and I feel. I can cry and be angry and love. Yet, I am not real. I, Charlotte Ellise Verchio, am a doll...