CrossRoads Farm

Dolly: The Sequel

05 February, 2005 - 9:12 am

Yesterday morning K handed me Dolly
and asked me to get the drips of maple syrup off of it while she was at school. Don’t get me started on why was Dolly at the breakfast table in the first place. I asked her if she wanted me to put it in a net bag and wash it with the clothes but she said no because she was afraid it would fall apart.

I’ve told you about Dolly before. She used to be pink but has turned this horrid grayish non-color. She’s been showered in Shout stain remover and washed in the laundry numerous times but to no avail. She’s dingy and that’s that.

So K went off to school. I had my coffee and got ready for the library and I noticed Dolly lying on the washing machine. I opened up the laundry cabinet to see what stain removers I had there and found this bar of Fels-Naptha soap. I had used the soap to get the pencil stains out of the little felt rabbits I made for Yule presents. It had worked very well and was gentle. So I grabbed it.

I went to the sink and dampened Dolly’s face then I very gently rubbed the corner of the bar of soap on the sticky spot. I put the soap down and rubbed a bit with my fingers, rinsed and Holy shit! there was a little patch of perfectly pink Dolly face where I had cleaned her. Well, I couldn’t leave just a patch of pink so I lathered up my fingertips and washed Dolly’s face. I could see her little blue eyes and her pretty little smile. And the water that rinsed off Dolly’s face was brown and yucky. I was thrilled. I’d finally found the secret formula to clean Dolly. I remembered how upset K was the first time Dolly came out of the laundry wet but no cleaner than she had been before she went in. It had probably been years since I’d tried to clean her. I poured some water into the sink and dunked Dolly, then I lathered up my hands again and gently washed. The water in the sink turned a terrible brown. The dirt came off her nylon hands and the little tuft of yellow yarn hair. The grime came out of her terry cloth legs and body. She was beautiful. And soft. And smelled clean.

When H got home from school and saw Dolly she was as thrilled and amazed as I was. “Wow, K is going to be so happy!”

When we got home from ice skating at the pond I told K I had a surprise for her. I got Dolly off the heater, still damp, and held her out to K.

She burst into hysterical tears.

She cried for an hour.

Like I’d ripped her heart out.

I wasn’t sure how I felt about that. I mean on the one hand K was right. She hadn’t asked me to do that. It’s her special doll.
On the other hand – well if this is the most traumatic thing that’s ever happened then you should count yourself lucky and get the hell over it.

So we talked about it and talked about it. She kept saying “I liked her gray!” Finally I explained to my otherwise fastidious daughter that Dolly was gray because of dirt. As if K worn the same nightgown to bed every single night. That the gray was grime and oil from K’s hands and face. K looked horrified for a second. Then she said, ‘I thought I’d loved all the pink off and you put it back.”

This morning she complained that Dolly’s hands are falling apart at the seams. Which they are. I told her I would fix them if she wanted me to but she said no. She started to cry again and I must admit by then I’d had it. I told her it was a minor miracle that there was anything left of Dolly and I’d heard enough crying over it.
Insensitive? Maybe. Maybe not. I’m sure her future therapist will let her know.

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