Barbie Girl (Baby Doll Series)

by Heidi Acosta

  “Um…” I brace myself holding onto her waist, as she waits patiently. Her eyes are glitter against the black night sky, brighter than any star.

  “Scar,” she reminds me, amusement in her voice.

  “The…scar?” I suck in a deep breath clearing my head. “Old battle wound. Third and I used to have Light saber fights, well he won that day.” She is touching the scar deep in thought. “What are we talking about again?” I ask. I am lost once again by how beautiful she is. I reach up pulling her down to me. We should be kissing, not talking.

  “You are my wounded hero,” she laughs under my kisses. She moves her neck so I have full access to it. “You know I have never seen any of those movies.” She gasps as I place a line of kisses down her neck.

  Trance broken. I sit up straight, my head clear of the fog. “What?” I asked shocked. I must have heard her wrong. “You have never seen Star Wars!”

  She shrugs. “Nope,” my mouth is hanging open.

  “What’s the big deal?” she says nonchalantly.

  “The big deal! The big deal is I cannot make out with someone that has no knowledge of what takes place in a galaxy far, far away,” I joke.

  “Oh I bet I can change your mind,” she says.

  I want her to change my mind. “I am sorry my lady but I have been trained in the Jedi ways. Your mind tricks will not work on me.” I tap my finger to my temple.

  “Really?” she smiles a wicked smile at me. “Did I ever tell you about my other scar,” she trails a finger down her chest. I am broken.

  Chapter 18.

  Iris

  Sunday afternoon I am waiting for Barbie to arrive. My mom is working a double at the hospital so I will not see her until tomorrow, and Dad picked up an extra shift at the office. So it is just me and the squirt, whom I banished to her room on the terms I will take her to Wal-Mart to buy her one of those dolls she is not allowed to have. If she promises to only come down if it is an emergency. The doorbell rings and I try not to seem desperate and race to the door. I wait, one, two, oh forget it. I jog over to the door. I need to see her. She stands on my front porch her hair in braids; I pull her into through the doorway and kiss her.

  She laughs pulling away first. “Well, hello to you too,” she says, reaching up and pushing the hair out of my eyes.

  I have been meaning to go get it cut. “I got the complete saga, are you ready to have your mind blown?” I say. She is still wrapped in my arms and she feels so good. I don’t want to ever let her go.

  She laughs and wiggles away from me. “I don’t know about that, but I am ready to dork out with you.”

  I smile. “Baby, you had me at dork.” I try to pull her closer to me again. She is too far away from me. She side steps my outreached arms. “I never thought that those words could be so sexy, but then again everything out of your mouth is sexy.”

  I grab her and she lets me pull her close enough to kiss her again. How does she get her lips to taste like vanilla? Her mouth reminds me of the sugar cookies Mom bakes. A blood-curdling scream interrupts us. A little boy is on the ground under Emmy’s tire swing in a tangle of long gangly limbs; his elbow is scratched and bleeding.

  Barbie turns to the girl I saw with Third. She runs over to the flailing boy and picks him up. I walk over to her to help. But I suck in these situations. “This is my brother,” she says over the wails. I nod my head over the sound, and add that to the growing list of things I did not know about her. She has a brother.

  “I think there is a first aid kit in the kitchen.” The coopery smell of blood hits my nose and my stomach rolls. She follows me back into the house. She sets down her brother on the counter and I grab the first aid kit. The sight of blood makes my stomach turn; sure I have seen plenty of it with Emmy running around. I sit down and practice breathing through my nose. Barbie begins carefully cleaning his wounds explaining each step to him. Soon the kid is bandaged, blood gone. My breathing evens and I watch her. She whispers words of comfort in his ear, words I cannot hear. Soon his sobs turn into hiccups with the occasional whimper. As much as I hate it when girls cry; little kids crying are no better. I open the cabinet and pull out Emmy’s stash of gummies and try to hand them to him.

  “Oh he cannot eat those,” Barbie says. She straightens out of a hug.

  “Oh sorry,” I say feeling useless.

  “Thanks, it’s just that he can’t eat anything round, it wigs him out,” she explains.

  “Round things wig him out?”

  “Everett is autistic.”

  I look at the boy he looks so much like her. His dirty blond hair hangs in ocean blue eyes, the same pouty lips; his nose has the same faint freckles as hers.

  “Oh,” it is lame but I don’t know what else to say. Emmy chooses that moment to save me, this six-year-old rocks.

  “What are you doing to that boy, Dylan?” She is in her pink and purple tutu, with a hot pink boa wrapped around her neck. She looks from me to Everett with accusing eyes. Emmy marches past me, and climbs on to the stool next to Barbie. “Who is he?” she asks.

  “This is my little brother Everett.” Emmy pulls at his elbow and examines his injury.

  “What happened? Did Dylan push you? Once he pushed me off the trampoline and I had to get stitches on my knee,” she lifts up her knee trying to find said injury.

  Oh she will never let that rest, she will guilt me about that the rest of her life. “That is not exactly how I remember things, I think you were supposed to get off the trampoline and when I tried to get you, you bounced away right off of it.”

  She thinks about it for a second then shakes her head, “No, I think you pushed me.”

  I roll my eyes.

  “No, Dylan didn’t push him; he fell off the tire swing.”

  Emmy nods her head in understanding. “It is dangerous, I know,” she is referring to the other time she needed stitches. She wound up the rope so tight it spun her right in to the tree; she needed thirteen stitches and had a slight concussion.

  “Look, I am just going to take him home, can we do this Star Troopers thing another time?” she says.

  “Star Wars and you have to stay,” I start to protest.

  Emmy jumps in with her whiny voice. “But…But I am having a tea party and Dylan said he cannot play, that I had to leave him and you alone unless it is an emergency. I think he wants to kissss you.” She puckers her small mouth. Barbie giggles at her. “Everett can play with me I need a prince,” Emmy pleads, her small hands under her chin batting her little eye lashes. Oh she is good.

  I jump in then, “Yeah, come on stay.” I bat my eyes and stick out my bottom lip matching Emmy.

  She laughs and pushes me in my chest playfully.

  “Well?”

  She bites her bottom lip thinking about it.

  “Dylan said you are his princess Leia. Are you going to play Star Wars with him?” My face is on fire, boo boo face gone.

  “Oh, did he,” Barbie gives me a coy smile. “Well I wouldn’t want Dylan to be down a princess,” she winks at me.

  “Yay,” Emmy jumps up and down clapping her hands.

  “Yay,” I smile copying Emmy.

  “Listen Emmy, Everett is autistic, and he is non-verbal which means he doesn’t talk, but he points and sometimes makes signs.”

  Emmy thinks about this. “I am artistic too, look at all my art work Mommy put up,” she points to the ice box that is littered with her drawings.

  Emmy takes a box of ice pops up to her room which Everett does eat. After Barbie is content that Everett is okay, she comes back downstairs standing under the archway to the living room, “So I am your princess Leia?” Barbie’s voice is smooth like honey, her long tanned legs stick out from under her denim shorts, and she leans against the wall. I want to touch every part of her.

  “Yeah…” I close the distance between us pulling her to me. “And my Arwen, and Lara Croft, and Hermione, and…” my mind goes blank because she is mine and I don’t want her to be anyone else
but her. “Mine.” We fall back on to the couch; she is on top of me, we fit together perfectly. I trail my fingers down her back pulling up the hem of her shirt so I can feel the soft skin under it. She pushes my hair back again reminding me that I need to get it cut, but then she would not have an excuse to do that, and I love the sensation it gives me. She pushes my arms above my head and I let her take control. Kissing my bicep, small slow kisses, she is deliberately driving me crazy. She pulls at my shirt it gets stuck on my shoulders and I help her pull it off me. She sits up straight where she is soft I am hard. Her hands explore my chest making me come alive under each touch. She wears a coy smile knowing what she is doing to me. She smells of cotton candy, and it makes my pulse race. I pull her back to me needing to feel her mouth on mine.

  “I just want you to know the rumors about me are not true…well most of them.” She says breathless.

  “I don’t care,” I say her mouth still on mine. And I don’t care about the rumors. Wait most of them are not true. I hesitate for a moment, but hell if she doesn’t feel so good on top of me, her skin so soft and she smells so damn good… I don’t care about rumors. All of them could be true it does not matter because she is with me. I reach for the hem of her shirt yanking it.

  “Can we have more tea,” Emmy walks into the dark living room. I jump up separating me and Barbie who crab walks backwards to the other end of the couch.

  “What? No.” I pant trying to catch my breath and cool the fire that is licking through my body at the moment.

  “But Mommy always makes me tea,” Emmy whines.

  “Okay give me a sec Emmy.”

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Why don’t you have on a shirt?” she questions.

  “I was hot; do you want some of Mom’s secret cookies with your tea?” I stand up trying to distract her.

  Her eyes narrow, “And some of the hidden Halloween candy.” She crosses her arms and gives me the stink eye.

  “Fine,” I am in no position to negotiate with her. “Yes. Yes anything.”

  Emmy goes back upstairs with a pumpkin full of Halloween candy and a package of Mom’s secret cookies that she hides under the sink.

  “Are you still hot?” Barbie dangles my shirt off her finger. I grab it from her.

  “No more tempting me,” I say.

  She makes a pouty face when I pull it back over my head. I am glad that Emmy came in interrupting us because I was losing myself in the feel of her. I don’t think I would have stopped and we are not ready for that yet. We need to get to know each other more. Hell I just found out a few hours ago she has a brother. She twirls her hair around her fingers looking up at me with her ocean blue eyes making my heart feel like it is going to stop beating at any moment. Okay I need to at least know where she lives first. “New rule, you sit on that side of the couch,” I point clear to the other side. “And I will sit over here, because I can’t think when I am this close to you,” I say plopping down on my end. I turn on the movie and the dark room lights up. George can keep me from thinking about her. Her on top of me… I look away, and trying to watch the movie. I am determined to watch each episode in order starting with The Phantom Menace. I try to think about everything and anything other than the girl curled up on the other side of the couch. Her long tanned legs tucked under her. The blond strand of hair she twirls absentmindedly around her fingers. I have to fight the urge to pull her to me when she jumps. Screw Star Wars, who cares if it was the best movie from a book ever made. I have a totally hot girl sitting in my living room that wants to kiss me and I am trying to watch a sci-fi movie. What the heck is wrong with me? I toss the remote and scout across the coach to her and pull her on to my lap.

  * * *

  The lights flick on and we are drowned in a harsh white light. “It is so dark in here.” My dad announces his arrival. Barbie bolts up. “Why hello you must be the girl that has Dylan walking around here like this.” My dad stands on his tip toes and leaps around the room like a freaking ballerina. Anytime he gets a chance to embarrass me he takes it. He thinks it is the first rule in the guide to being a good parent. Embarrass son.

  I groan, “Nice dance moves Dad. It is about time we see that all the money you are pouring into lessons is finally paying off. “Dad, this is Barbie.”

  Barbie gives him a smile and holds out her hand.

  “Enchante Mademoiselle,” my dad kisses her hand.

  “Barbie this is my dad,” I sigh at his attempt to be suave.

  He turns to me, “Mom is pulling a double shift so I am in charge of making dinner.”

  “I will get out the menus,” I take Barbie’s hand and lead her to the kitchen so dad cannot humiliate me anymore.

  “I am thinking French,” he calls after us. Barbie leans against the counter with her hip while I look through the menus.

  “Pizza?” I ask holding up the menu for her to see. She bites her bottom lip. “You are staying.” I am not ready to let her go. I have plans on picking up from where we were interrupted. I can sense her hesitation. “Come on stay, we have not finished the movies yet.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I don’t think we were watching it,” she says.

  “See even more reason for you to stay. Please.” I am fully aware that I am begging like Emmy does when she sees something she wants.

  “But…Everett…”

  “He will eat Sicilian style pizza right?” I start dialing the number before she can answer.

  “Magnifique!” My dad kisses his fingers. “You will never guess what part of the world I was on the phone with today,” my dad says.

  “France,” Barbie and I both answer at the same time laughing.

  Chapter 19.

  Difference

  I really like Mr. Knight. He tells us stories of his work in shipping. He is very animated when he talks with large gestures and funny facial expressions. He wants to know all about my life which I leave very vague. Emmy sat on his knee glued to his side the entire time during dinner. After dinner we all finish the movie as well as Mrs. Knight’s secret cookie stash. She is in need of a new hiding spot.

  “Your dad is really nice,” I say to Dylan as we drive. Everett is fast asleep with his head in my lap.

  “Yeah he is okay,” Dylan smiles at me. Tonight was painfully obvious how different we both really are.

  “Oh here, you can pull over right here,” I direct Dylan.

  He stops the truck but looks confused. “But this is a park?” he questions

  “I know,” I open the door.

  “Let me take you home,” he says.

  “That’s fine; we can walk the rest of the way.” I unbuckle a sleeping Everett and pull him out.

  Dylan unbuckles and hops out, “Let me help you.”

  I balance Everett with one hand and stop Dylan with the other. “Look I know you want to do the right thing here, but I am fine,” I tell him

  “Barbie don’t be difficult I don’t care where you live,” he argues back.

  “It has nothing to do with where I live, I am not ready for you to meet that part of my life yet,” I snap.

  “Fine,” Dylan crosses his arm.

  “Fine,” I leave Dylan standing at his truck praying he does not pull a stubborn boy move and follow me. I walk in the light of his headlights until I disappear over the knoll.

  I push the door open with my foot. Shifting Everett to the other arm, he is tiny but he is starting to get too heavy for me to carry. The house is dark. Momma must be at work, her shift started an hour ago. I make my way in the dark back to the bedroom and put Everett in bed. I pull of his Spiderman sneakers and tuck him in. He still has glitter on his eyes. I shake my head. Emmy sure loves to play dress up. Everett didn’t mind. Dylan showed him his Lego collection. I didn’t point out that he is a seventeen-year-old boy and he has a Star Wars Lego collection. It warmed my heart watching Everett light up as Dylan explained each figurine to him.

  I take a pair of sleep pants and an old T-shirt out of my dresser and head t
o the bathroom flicking the hallway light on. There is a stark difference in comparison to the one that lines my house. There are no happy photos of a family, or bright, cheerful yellow paint. I open the bathroom door flipping on the florescent overhead light and my heart stops. “Momma?” I drop the clothes in my hand and run over to her. “Momma,” I get on my knees and pick up her head and it lolls around. “Oh god. Oh god. Please. Please. Momma, please,” I beg her.

  But she is unresponsive to my pleading. Her body is limp, and cold in my arms. Her skin has a blue hue to it. She still wears her uniform; she must have never made it in. I pull her to me hugging her trying to hear her breathe, seeing if she is dead. Please don’t be dead. I still need you. We still need you. Tears blur my vision. I have nightmares about this very thing, finding her dead. Over dosed. Heart stopped. What I would do, how I would tell Everett that our momma just didn’t love us enough. But I am not ready. Not prepared for this. Her chest rises in one shallow breath. She is alive. A sob escapes me; she is alive, but barely. I put my hand to her chest and feel the slow beat of her heart. “Momma,” I shake her, trying to wake her. I need to get her moving. Her heart starts to beat faster. “Come on Momma,” I shake her harder.

  She mumbles something incomprehensible. I lift her up, she is a dead weight but I manage to drag her so she is propped up against the tub. What did she take? I scan the bathroom for what might have poisoned her. I don’t see anything in here that she could have taken. I open drawers, pull the towels from under the sink. Nothing. I should call for an ambulance, but what would happen with Everett; surely protective services will get involved. I cannot lose him. What would he do without me? He needs me. Whatever is in her system needs to come out. “Okay come on Momma. Whatever you took we need to get rid of.” I try not to think about what I have to do next. I hold her head steady in my hand and open her mouth sticking my finger down her throat. She gags but nothing happens. “Come on, Momma. Please. I stick my finger down deeper. This time she vomits I lean her over the tub as she vomits. “Good, Momma, good.” I coach her. I do it two more times making sure her stomach is empty. She is still lethargic and unresponsive but her breathing has quickened. I need to get her moving. I need to get her up. I pull her arm over my shoulder and try to get her to her feet, “Come on, Momma,” I say again. She is only five foot two and ninety pounds soaking wet, but she is dead to the world and it adds on another fifty. I stumble forward as I try to move her. When I get her up it takes all my strength to keep her up. “Momma we got to walk,” I tell her even though she cannot understand me. “Wake up, Momma.” I try to get her walking. If I can get her walking then maybe she will be okay. I half carry, half drag her out into the hall. I lean against the wall with her catching my breath before I continue on. I think about the photo of Dylan’s family, how they all seem to love each other. I bet he never had to try to save his mother from a near over dose.