WonderDoll

Four

My skin is latex.

Succumbing in a mind numbing wax—vibrating with a silicon. The sun seems to paste to it and not be able to pull free, stuck like a fly in a web. There is a large window with white pastry curtains dusted over them. Their thickly fogged with dirt and grime but the sun is able to finger its way through.

The sun reminds me of an all too happy life, a life far gone by a patch of ice. All I ask for is a rainy day where my tears can hide.

I never made it under the blankets. I still lay atop the floral printed comforter with a sandwich beside my head and my bags piled beside the bed. I straighten up and let my eyes adjust focus to the room’s abrupt light shingles. It’s the same as it was last night just with more light. A fire place with a stone chimney, a couch, a table, a large stained window, and a bathroom door in the corner.

I yawn and a few tears leak out of my eyes from the sleep built up around the edges. My pants are pulled to one side from my restless tossing. I feel the awkward box of my phone in my pocket slowly heating in the sun’s light; I pull it out and find thirty new text messages.

I scroll through a few of the chastisements.

Im so sorry sherman!

What the hell man? Whered you go?

I heard what happened, sorry to here that man:/ give me a call anytime dude

Fuck man that’s harsh! Sory to hear that! Keep in touch tho dude

Sherman! I am so so so sorry to hear about your parents! I tried to call but it went straight to voicemail… Give me a call sometime if you want :) Love Kate

But there are two that catch my eye. One from Sam and the other from Kyle. Actually, there are multiple from each of them, the latest ones being:

Hey, babe… Give me a call. I heard what happened. Love ya! Just wanna know how you’re doing…

And then there is Kyle’s maneuver towards the situation, with his unsympathetic doctoring:

Holy fucking shit man! I am so sorry! I mean, fuck! I left ya a voicemail; give me a call when you can! Love ya bro

Although his methods are unorthodox methods he seems to always, lance a sharp steel in my chest. Sam’s message was more curling and deeming than Kyle’s. I miss her right now. I could use her right now. Her lips. Her skin. Her smell. Her hair. Her. The way her thighs wrap around me when she hugs me. The soft strength in her arms when she enwraps me. The way her breath tastes on mine.

And I remember that I never got to say bye to any of them. Not even a wave, like I never said goodbye to my parents. I vanished from their worlds like my parents did mine. And I think of how close Kyle was to my parents; how he was like their other son. How Sam was their favorite girl. How my mom always had activities going at the school and I notice how she and my father are connected to everything in Lowell. Talking to them might just open a hole, lower a bridge, start a fire. So I won’t respond. At least not, right now.

I slip off the bed and study the room a bit more. There are books on some of the book cases. There is a lot of dust and thin fabrics throughout the stashes. The floor is hardwood and the walls are a pale white with oak trim. Everything seems to accent everything. Some in a good way, others in a strange but meshing format. The room is quite beautiful and sanctioned compared to what other parts of the house I saw.

The bathroom door seems to be jammed but it bursts open after a few hits with my body. There are no windows so it is dark. The corners seem to harbor a figure but they melt into the blackness. The light switch is also jammed and covered in a thick layer of dust. I walk back to the bed and grab the flashlight then return to the bathroom. On the floor, there are four oil lanterns. Behind them is a large porcelain bathtub with lion feet and then beside it is a shower. Back in the corner is a toilet with a crack running down one side then next to that is a gray cabinet with fake flowers sitting in vases on top of it.

Next is a mirror with a dark oak frame. A coral finned snake slithers from its depths. The mirror seems to see something I don’t. Which most mirrors do don’t they? See what is behind you? Inside you? Outside you? They see what you truly are when no one is watching. They are you without conscience. A rag doll of a copy. A friend that can listen and not judge.

I grab the lamps, take them into the bedroom, and set them on the coffee table so I can use them later since the ability of electric light seems to be forbidden.

There is the sound of footsteps creaking through the walls. It is 8:41 so Aunt Henley should be up. I open the door and stare into the hall. It is pitch black the same as it was last night. The only light comes from the sun in my room. I step into the darkness and feel a cool illness thriving in it. Unlike the heated calm in my room, the black guts of the house feel violent and volatile like a war between ghosts is happening right in front of me.

I can’t see down either direction of the hallway then I remember the flashlight again. I make my way down the hallway passing the doors and then circling down the staircase. I reach the bottom and am in another hall. I see bright sun rays peeking through edges of the door frame, but that is it. There are no other doors windows, door, cracks or holes that light can get through. Completely black, completely silent.

“Sherman? Is that you?” asks Aunt Henley. I level the beam with her face. “Yup, it’s me.”

“Oh, great darlin’! We can get going early then,” she says while spit flops out of her mouth.

“Get going where?” I ask.

“Well, you have to get registered for school, of course.”

“Oh yeah, um, all my stuff is still back in Lowell…” I remember the rush she had put me in. How she wouldn’t take me home to get anything. How she took over.

“Oh, Uncle Ted is on his way there right now to get your car and everything else. No need to worry about that.” She says but I don’t like the idea of Uncle Ted rummaging through my stuff, of him deciding what to keep and what not to keep.

“Have you showered yet?” her tone hooks me with a stern kind of irritation.

“No, not yet.”

“Well, hurry up, we don’t got all day, now!” but the idiocy was that we did have all day. It was only 8:45 in the morning. “I’ll make you somethin’ for breakfast. Now hurry on up there and get ready.”

“I don’t have any clothes,” I explain. “You never took me back home.”

“I know.” The flashlight catches a feral anger like the tone sitting on her tongue, but visual. “There should be some clothes beside your door; I brought them down this morning.” Brought them down? I thought my room was on the top level.

“Oh, okay. Thanks, I guess.”

“No problem, hon.”

I turn around and start for the stairs. I can still feel her eyes following me as I walk away.