the lost girls

(one)

.

“i think i’m lost,” the girl says. she’s a porcelain doll kind of girl with fine blonde hair and pretty clothes. she looks so out of place. she looks so at home.

tinkerbell holds her breath and blinks like fluttering faery wings. she’s never seen a girl like her before (because, well, girls like that don’t come stumbling into ghetto crash pads like this very often).

dorothy scrambles to her feet suddenly and heads toward the new girl. maybe this is what they’ve (she’s) been needing.

“that’s okay,” dorothy says and leads her further inside.

“so are we.”

(two)

.

her eyes were wide and blue like summertime oceans.

“i think,” dorothy says, puts a finger to her bright red lips, “i’ll call you alice.”

alice grins, a mouth full of pearls, and dorothy is satisfied.

(two-and-a-half)

.

“so,” alice says and makes herself comfortable on the sofa, “do you give names to all the girls you meet?” she takes her shoes off and puts them under the coffee table. dorothy sits next to her, legs crossed on the cushions and smiles.

“only the pretty ones,” dorothy says and tinkerbell giggles.

“so what about the two of you? what are your names?” alice asks, curious because she always has been. you could be a scientist with a mind like that, her mother told her once. but that was a long time ago. 

“i’m dorothy. that’s tinkerbell.”

alice looks embarrassed. “no, no. i meant—”

“does it matter?” dorothy asks. her smile falters. tinkerbell looks at the television and pretends not to be listening to the conversation anymore. it takes a moment but alice finally says,

“no. no it doesn’t.”

it’s the truth.

(three)

.

on sunday they eat cake and talk about their love lives (or lack thereof)

“he was smart. a real wiz,” dorothy is saying, “but it didn’t last long.”

why not? alice asks and dorothy shrugs.

“he wasn’t who i thought he was,” she says.