Where Now?
I pulled Melody out of a bin the other day. One of her shoes had fallen off in the bin and her hair was flatter than I like it to be. I held her and stared. I suppose contemplated would be the word. I know I have room for four dolls alone and I don't want to have more than four at this point. There's something about it all, though. There's something that feels like a betrayal. I can't tell if it's to myself or to the dolls. Not a current version of myself, but the eleven-year-old girl who painted a slab of wood and wrote on it to never under any circumstances sell my dolls. I didn't write that imagining I was saying it to myself, but rather to some descendant one hundred years in the future. I sold two of my dolls around that age, I don't remember feeling that deep sentimentality. Maybe I did and I just don't remember. I more remember being very tough on not pricing them too low, much to my mom's annoyance (and she was correct, for the record)....