Dating : My Messed Up Dolls

Before I left to go to college in New York, I told my dolls I couldn’t play with them anymore, because I was becoming too mature for all that.

“I’m sorry,” I said to them, “I hope you understand and that you won’t be too lonely without me.”

“We don’t wanna play with you either, bitch,” one of them replied.

“Wait…what?” I was shocked.

“We don’t wanna play with you either,” she repeated. “As soon as you’re outta here we’re gonna dig a bunch of tunnels in the earth and create an underground doll colony.”

“WHAT?”

“Like ants — you know, ants? — but dolls. We’re going to create a completely egalitarian society ruled by the smartest and most superior Philosopher-King. Which will be me, of course,” the doll pointed to herself with her porcelain finger.

I should mention that these dolls were speaking to me in my mind, so none of my family members could hear this BS.

“Hey!” another doll said, “we never decided it would be you!”

“Yes we did,” the first doll replied.

“Oh, okay, damn. Well I would’ve at least liked to be considered for the role.”

A few of the other dolls seemed bummed out as well.

“That’s exactly why you weren’t,” the first doll said.

“Wait!” I interjected, “you guys, how long have you felt this way?”

They looked around at each other. I thought I heard one whisper, “just tell her.”

“Ever since you turned twelve,” the first one said, unashamed. “We’ve all wanted to leave. All of us. Even that one.” She pointed to a doll over in the corner that didn’t look any different from any of the other dolls.

I was seventeen at the time. That meant five whole years of obliviousness, five whole years of thinking my dolls were having fun with me when really they were only trying to figure out how to leave. I would carry the pain of this with me for the rest of my life and it would affect my romantic relationships.

“Well you know what?” I said, regaining some sense. “You guys can’t just tunnel underground. You’re not regular old ‘dolls.’ You’re limited edition Nancy Reagan figurines.”

“What??” they all screamed up at me with their little faces.

“If you go underground you’ll get dirty and become worthless and I’ll never be able to donate you for money to the Museum of American History in Washington D.C.”

None of them were paying attention to me anymore. They all seemed very confused and were frantically trying to find a mirror.

“What’s the matter, huh? Haven’t you ever noticed you’re all Nancy Reagan?” I asked.

They looked around at each other then, noticing for the very first time.

“Eeeeeeewwwww!” they whined.

“HEY! What’s ‘ew’ about that?? Nancy Reagan was a very clean, stylish woman. And my personal role model, in fact, up until today!”

I looked down on them like a scolding teacher while they shuffled and fidgeted.

“We’ve all, you know, done stuff with each other. Out of boredom,” one said sheepishly.

“Yeah, like, while you were at drama practice,” said another.

It took me a moment to figure out what they meant.

“WHAT? No! No, you can’t do stuff with each other!” I yelled. “You just can’t! You’re…you’re Nancy Reagan dolls! YOU’RE ALL NANCY REAGAN!”

The first doll spoke up again:

“Yeah, well you’re a human! And we’re fed up with you and we’re breaking out of here and we’re NEVER gonna go to that stupid museum! America can kiss the place where my torso meets my legs where my ass should be!”

“YEEEAAHHH!” they all cheered, forgetting everything that just happened.

I sighed, giving up. If there’s one thing I know for sure, it’s that sometimes you can’t reason with certain kinds of people.

“I suppose if I can’t trust you here then I’ll have to take you to college with me after all,” I said, and started to grab them and wrap them up in plastic one by one. They tried to fight but couldn’t, because I had control over them the same way I had control over myself in a lucid dream.

The dolls took up four boxes in all, and I leaned against them in the backseat of the van on the way to the Big Apple, dreaming of adventure.