I was her first love. And she was mine. I've known her since she was maybe 4 years old when I was given to her in a nicely wrapped box on her birthday. Above all the neat presents from the Easy Bake oven to that Barbie pair of roller skates, she must have loved me the most. But I was only something her folks called her vintage,made out of rags and buttons while toys are now made with plastic and electronics. Maybe it was because she loved simple things, things that would not make so much noise, things that were soft and take shape of her and the likeness of other girls, things that were good for her to hug at night when nightmares and monsters would trouble her thoughts. She would always be happy to see me when she came home from school and couldn't wait to arrange a tea party with me as her guest of honor. The stains from the spilled tea still look fresh on my dress from so many years ago.
As years went by, I was the the one that stayed the same while she was the one who began to change and eventually drift away. It was around the time when she entered middle school and started wearing bras and buying magazine after magazine about fashion and boys. She hardly ever talked to me anymore let alone held me at night. And to make more room in her space to fill all her earrings, make-up and her new computer to chat with her friends, she put me on the top shelf, a place where toys were forgotten. It was as if I don't know her anymore and she doesn't remember who I am! Rather than spending nights cuddling me, she went off with her friends late at night to see a crummy movie about vampires or places called clubs or have friends over for sleepovers gossiping about boys they have their eyes on. All the while, I just sat up their, waiting, waiting....waiting for the day when she would pick me up off the shelf and say "I'll always love you". The dust has only just began to form a third layer onto the fabric of my dress with little shamrocks sewn on it.
And I never again got to hear her say those words, those words I long so much to hear. It was only until she was moving out of her parents' house to go to university out of state that she finally stumbled across me. She smiled at me, just like she did so long ago. I could never forget that smile. It was so beautiful. So full of innocent gentleness untouched. But then she put me in a box with the words DONATION written on it with a Sharpie. She dropped me off in a dusty road by a GoodWill truck and drove away. For a long time, I thought she might come back realizing that she still loves me. And I will still be waiting for her, all dusty and faded.
