by K. Weikel
“It’s alright, dear,” my mom says slowly and carefully. She had drank some alcohol before she cooked, I bet.
I put my legs back down and take my brothers rough hands and my mother’s shaky ones. How can she hold the hand of the man who is going behind her back?
“Dear Heavenly Father, we pray you bless our food and that you help in nourish our bodies,” My dad says rhythmically. “We pray you keep our futures in in mind as we move forward in our every day lives, and that you bless the time we have with each other. Please help Tobiah get that scholarship, and Amabel continue to do well in school. Amen.”
We let go of each other, the walls going back up around each of us. We shovel food into our mouths almost silently, until my dad breaks the nauseating silence. He talks to Tobiah about football and college. My mom keeps her eyes on her food, her jaw muscles tense.
I think I hate eating dinner the most out of everything I do with my family. It’s filled forced conversations and fake smiles. No one cares what the other person did, really, they just want to act like they’re listening. At least, that’s what I gathered about my family. No one cares unless they really need to.
I decide to eat my food because I love food and I can’t just have it sit there getting cold. But to make my stomach happier, I don’t eat everything.
Putting my dishes away, my mom asks my brother to do them. My dad says he’s going to stay up to watch “the game”—whatever it is.
I sit back down at the table and pull one knee up to my chest as my brother finishes off his last bite.
“What were you doing today?” I ask him. “I mean, I know you went to the gym...”
He looks at me, a little stunned. My heart is pounding. I’m never this straightforward when I try to understand my family. I’m more of the watching kind.
He clears his throat and shakes his head as he sets down his fork.
“I was, um... I was just in my room. Then I went to the gym and came home. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I lie, drawing a flower on the table with my finger.
“What—did you spy on me or something?” he says, getting angry.
I’m startled by the sudden flex in his emotion. None of the Doll family ever gets mad. Is it the drugs?
“N-no,” I stammer. “Just curious.”
“Why?” he snaps.
“Just—I was, Tobiah, okay?”
“Hey, what’s going on in here?” My mom barges in from the kitchen.
“Nothing,” Tobiah says and shoves himself back from the table. He makes his way up to his room and I hear the door slam.
I groan and rest my forehead on my knee.
Smooth, Amabel.
“What happened?” My mother asks, a little bit of annoyance and hanger bubbling up inside of her.
“I just asked him a question,” I say to my leg.
My mom sighs. “What have I told you about prying, Amabel? It makes people uncomfortable and it’s not polite.”
I nod as my eyes focus on the flat top of my knee as I hug my leg against my body. She eventually leaves and I stare at my half-eaten plate of food. There’s a feeling in my gut that’s making me uneasy, like guilt or something.
I sit and listen to the sounds of my house. My mom doing dishes. My dad talking to the TV. My brother in his room doing God-knows-what.
And then there’s me, in my own little world where everyone’s secrets reverberate in my mind when their faces come into view. Whose secrets are kept to themselves, but unknowingly shows them like an open book. The very people who are supposed to care about me and what I think, they turn their backs and wear masks that no one else can see through.
No one but me.
~
Tomorrow is Monday and I have so many things to do.
I flip through my planner and run my finger on the calendar in front of me, making sure I have everything on the right date and at the right time and so on.
My phone buzzes and I ignore it as I jot something down on the calendar from my planner.
It buzzes again and I look at the screen. A green message icon by my boyfriends name pops up.
JOHN: Hey you
I smile and unlock the phone, sitting back in my chair. The calendar can wait.
John and I have been going out for about a year now. In a few weeks, it will be our anniversary. We tell each other ‘I love you,’ but I honestly don’t believe I meant it in the first month he said it to me. Over time, I started feeling like I did love him, and I hope that I do. I think that I do, at least.
ME: Can I ask you to do something for me?
JOHN: Yeah sure. What is it?
ME: Could you pray for me?
JOHN: Yeah is everything alright?
ME: Yeah, just feeling overwhelmed.
JOHN: I can only imagine. But will do haha.
ME: Thank you.
We talk for a while until I decide to go to sleep and we pray together, something we started doing because why be with someone if you can’t share your faith with them?
I lie in bed staring at the ceiling, knowing I have to go to sleep. I have a big day tomorrow. So much to do…
But I can’t stop thinking about the way my brother reacted to me. It was highly uncalled for, even though my question was too. But he didn’t have to explode.
I turn over onto my side, trying to get comfortable. The clock on my desk glows with the numbers 1:30.
Sleep.
I’ve got to go to sleep.
Eventually, I do, and the alarm clock wakes me up.
I get up, get dressed, and go to school as usual. Turn in my homework, go to my after-school whatnot, and drive myself home in time for dinner. It’s the same thing the rest of the week, with a bit of a cold shoulder from Tobiah. All the same, except that now it’s me who’s wearing the mask so no one could see what’s wrong inside.
4. Plastic
There’s a new girl today. She sits in the back with a scowl on her heavily make-upped face. Her short, spiky blonde hair has streaks of purple and blue in them. They won’t stay that way though because the principal won’t allow it. Long hoop earrings hang from her ears and she wears a leather jacket, although it’s far from cold outside. She’s smacking on gum loudly as the teacher calls her up to announce her.
“Students,” Mrs. Ramirez smiles. “I would like you to meet your new classmate, Dahlia. She just moved here from Mississippi.”
Dahlia gives a sarcastic wave. Mrs. Ramirez seems uncomfortable in her presence, and I wouldn’t blame her. Dahlia is tall, and she looks like she can take out a brick wall.
“Please spit out your gum. The trash can is—”
“Whatever,” Dahlia croaks as she tosses it into the can. She looks straight at me and sneers. “What are you looking at, Barbie?”
I don’t respond as she walks back to her desk in the very back.
When the bell rings, she stops in the doorway and I physically run into her by accident. She turns around and runs her tongue across her teeth in annoyance.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying to slip past her.
She throws out her arm, blocking my path.
“I don’t believe you are, Barbie.”
I shift uncomfortably. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “My name isn’t Barbie—”
“Give me a break. You scream plastic. Everything about you is fake.”
Whispers start behind me. I don’t know what to do!
“Excuse me,” I say, bobbing my head in the direction of her arm. “Please let me through.”
“Whatever, Barbie.”
She pulls her arm away and I walk down the hall, the whispers following me.
~
Dinner that night is different. My mom seems to be in a hurry and my dad seems to want to talk about everything.
“Amabel, how was school?”
I almost choke on my food when he speaks up for the first time.
“Um, it was okay. There’s a new girl.”
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“Oh?” he asks as my mother stands up. “What’s her name?”
“Dahlia,” I say, picking at my food.
“What a pretty name,” my mom comments happily as she leaves the dining room.
“Is she nice?” my dad smiles.
I don’t know about nice...
“Yeah, I guess.”
“You should invite her over for dinner.”
The food in my mouth turns sour as I swallow it. Invite her over for dinner? She hates my guts and all I did was look at her.
I nod anyway and stare down at my half-eaten food.
That’s enough, I tell myself. You don’t need any more to eat.
I take my food back to the kitchen and shove it all down into the garbage disposal. Mom is long gone already, her dishes in the dishwasher. My father retires to the kitchen as I’m placing my dishes with my mother’s.
“I’ll be out for a while, kiddos,” my dad calls as I walk to the living room. “Call you when I leave.”
“Where are you going?” I ask him. I just want him to admit it. If he admits it, I’ll forgive him. He won’t disgust me as much anymore.
Just admit it...
He smiles amusingly, though his eyes search for an excuse.
“Work, honey.”
“This late?” I ask as I stand in the doorway to the living room, my willpower to hole everything back starting to crumble.
He shakes his head.
“You know what your mother said about prying.”
I nod and turn, infuriated.
I’M NOT BLIND YOU UNFAITHFUL, SELFISH MAN!
I plop down on the couch in a huff and switch on the TV. I never watch it anymore, and I probably still won’t. It’s just comforting to have the noise while I think. While I try not to think.
My dad leaves with a soft, “Goodbye, love you,” and shuts the door behind him.
~
I wake with a start, the TV droning on as the front door opens. It’s around midnight.
My mom stumbles in, alternating between giggling and crying. How did she make it home?
She leans up against the wall by the front door and lets out a low sob. She staggers into the room, her hand pressing against her forehead as her drunken eyes fall upon me.
“Amabel,” she says, her lip quivering.
She pulls me up to my feet suddenly, angry. She shakes me.
“What are you doing?”
“Mom, you’re—”
“Answer me!” She shouts, slapping me across the face. I stagger backwards, holding back tears as my mother fumes.
“Go to your room!” She screams, pushing me down onto the ground.
I land with a hard thud on the floor, my arm slamming into the coffee table. I need to escape from her. I need to escape from my mother.
I scramble to get up and she grabs my hair, yanking me back, sobbing. I cry out.
“Don’t tell a soul.”
I run up into my attic, into my room, and I slam the hatch shut, sitting on it. My mother goes back to crying on the couch and I’m left alone to fall asleep with the monster downstairs, the monster in his bedroom, and the monster that isn’t where he’s supposed to be.
Maybe Dahlia is right. Maybe I am a Barbie doll. Maybe it’s worse than the Doll-Syndrome. And maybe I can’t go back to being skin and bones—human, instead of being plastic.
~
I fell asleep on top of the hatch, my alarm startling me. My arm throbs. A bruise formed overnight from hitting the coffee table.
My heart breaks thinking about it.
My mom.
~
In class, Dahlia throws a piece of paper at me. In red ink, it reads BARBIE. A few girls snicker as I look back at her proud face. My life seems to be crumbling at the edges.
She stops me again once class is over, but this time no one is around as we walk out the door.
“Hey, Barbie,” she smiles, smacking on her gum.
“Amabel.”
“What?” she asks.
“Amabel. That’s my name.”
She laughs. “Stupid name.”
I feel my heart start to bleed, last night’s episode tearing me apart, and the secrets I hide cutting into my soul. I push past her, just wanting to get her out of my sight.
She follows me, thumbs hooked through her backpack straps like we were friends talking about the latest gossip. But talking gossip isn’t my thing. What singular being out of my friends would listen to me anyway?
I clear my throat, pushing away the tears and realizing she isn’t going anywhere.
“Do you want to come over for dinner?”
She looks at me, confused, smacking on her gum a couple times, thinking.
“Now, why would I want to go to your house?”
“Free food?” I offer, trying to peel my mind from the thoughts filling my head. “Look, if you don’t want to—”
“No, no!” she laughs, unhooking one thumb to hi-five someone. “Why not learn why you’re so fake?” She blows a bubble. “I’ll go.”
“Okay,” I say shakily. I wasn’t expecting her to agree. “I’ll take you at six from school.”
“Whoa, no way. I can drive myself. I’ll find your house. Bet it looks like a Barbie Dream house.”
She walks away with sass in her step without a single goodbye.
~
I make it home after saying goodbye to John at the front steps of the school. We’re both so busy...
I tell my parents about Dahlia, and my dad seems overjoyed. Another person to impress.
Half after six, a red Mustang pulls up in the drive. Dahlia gets out and rings the doorbell.
I open the door and she pushes herself inside, her jewelry making a ton of annoying noise.
My mom and dad greet her, hesitating at first by her look and the aura she gives off, but they seem to like her. More or less. And the Tobiah looks at her like she’s cute.
Ick.
We start to eat.
Halfway in, Dahlia speaks up.
“Quiet.”
She looks around at us and I shift uncomfortably, pulling a knee up to my chest and pushing food around on my plate.
“Yes, we… we don’t really talk much while we’re eating. It’s bad table manners to have food in your mouth while you speak,” my father smiles and takes another bite, chews, and swallows. “So Amabel says you’re new. Where did you move from?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, plopping a bite of broccoli in her mouth. “So what do you do mister...?”
“Doll.” My father smiles.
Dahlia chuckles and shakes her head. “Of course.”
My dad clears his throat. “I am a doctor at the local hospital.”
“Ah,” Dahlia says, disinterested. “Big house. Probably comes with the job.”
“So does the car,” Tobiah jokes, receiving a scolding look from my mom.
I can hear her now: Don’t boast.
I pull the other knee up to my body and rest my head on them, looking at my food.
“Amabel, that’s not polite. Put your legs down,” my mom chides gently.
I do as she says and place them on the floor. I finish off half of my food and tell myself to stop.
“Not hungry, Barbie?” Dahlia asks, noticing my plate.
“Um...”
“Barbie?” my mom asks.
Dahlia smiles sarcastically. “Yeah. I picked out the little nickname for her.”
She gives me an accusing look for a moment and goes back to eating.
“What’s that smell?” She asks suddenly, looking around the room and resting her eyes on Tobiah.
My mom seems startled. “What smell?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Just a smell...”
Does she know? Does she know about Tobiah’s addiction?
I stare at her, studying her. What is her game? What is she trying to do? Now I feel like my world isn’t just crumbling at the edges, but in the center too. And it terrifies me.
“Well, Tobiah just got some new cologne,” my mom offers.
“Mm,” Dahlia mumbles and goes back to eating.
Everyone finishes and we follow Dahlia to the door to walk her out.
“Hey, Barbie. Walk me to my car,” she demands after thanking my parents.
I jump ahead, nervous and scared of what might happen.
“So what’s up with the bruise?” she asks after the door closes. “Don’t act dumb. The one on your arm.”
I look down at it. “I hit it on the coffee table.”
“One tall coffee table.”
We walk in silence to her car and she unlocks it.
“Well, at least I know why you’re plastic now.”
“What do you mean?” I ask as she slips into her car, growing frustrated. “What do you mean ‘plastic’?”
She shakes her head and drives away with a thanks for inviting me, leaving me in my long driveway.
5. Crystal
Saturday.
That’s the name of today.
ME: Hey you
JOHN: Hey :) how’d it go last night?
I’d told him about Dahlia the day I’d met her and mentioned she’d be, surprisingly, coming over for dinner.
ME: Better than expected. But she kept calling me Barbie and Plastic.
JOHN: Hm. Why?
ME: Idk...
JOHN: Well you’re not. You’re one of the realist, sweetest girls I’ve ever met and I’m so glad I have you.
A smile spreads across my face as I read his text.
JOHN: Hey you wanna go to the movies tonight? We haven’t been on a date in forever.
ME: Yeah :D what movie?
JOHN: Idk. We can choose when we get there :p
ME: Haha okay.
We work it out to where he’s going to pick me up at around fiveish.
I lay back down on my bed, the morning sun streaming through my little window above my bed. I glance over at my calendar and a wave of relief washes over me. I have nothing to do today. This kind of rare occasion always calls for a celebration, and I think the movies are good enough to call it one.
Going down to the second story, there’s no noise from my brother’s room. It’s either he’s gone, or he’s sleeping, which I wouldn’t doubt either of them. Both are great candidates.
The first floor is quiet as well, except for the soft shuffling around in the kitchen. Must be my mom. My dad leaves for “work” all day every day, Sunday being his day off (or partial day off, due to church).
