baby? Are you with me?”
She stirred a little. He patted her hand, and she squeezed his palm. “I’m getting you a cold washcloth.”
He went into her bathroom and returned with a moistened washcloth. He pushed her bangs to the side and placed the cool cloth on her forehead. He held her hand, giving her time to come to.
“Are you okay?”
“I-I think…” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.
“It’s okay, stay still. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m going to see if you have any orange juice. Are you diabetic?”
She shook her head from side to side.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt for you to drink a small glass.”
He returned with the pulp-laced juice, surprised to find her out of bed and across the hall in the guest room that she’d converted to a yoga studio. He maneuvered past the dismembered doll parts and held out the glass of juice.
“You should drink this.”
She accepted the glass with a blank expression on her face, but he detected something troublesome in her eyes. They stood in silence. She drank the orange juice to avoid speaking, while he looked around the room. He had never seen a home yoga studio before.
Breathtaking landscapes lined the light gray walls of the windowless room, something he found peculiar, considering the picturesque artwork, featuring autumn trails, sun-glistened rocks and mountains, blue shorelines with bubbling waves, and stormy skylines cracked with lightning. A long bar was mounted against one wall. He guessed she used it for stretching.
He walked over to the array of knives, scalpels, and scissors scattered on the dark gray-carpeted floor. He turned over the familiar metal tray and placed the weapons on top. Disassembled dolls and plastic baggies filled with hair littered the floor. He placed the metal tray on the oblong table centered against the wall and then turned back to her. He didn’t know where to begin with the questions. This morning he’d found her disoriented, staring out at the ocean, and now this. His eyes went from the odd assortment of doll parts on the floor to her. She was out of orange juice and out of stalling time.
“Derrick, I know this stuff looks weird and you probably think I’m crazy, but it isn’t what you think.”
“What is all of this?”
She picked up the doll torso with the white lily stuck in its chest. “This is art. I was going to tell you about my hobby, but I was afraid you’d think I was weird. I wanted to tell you after we knew each other better.”
Great. The last thing he needed was a girlfriend who withheld information from him because even she thought her own interests far too strange for human consumption.
“Go on.”
“I recently got involved with the Alternative Doll Convention. I-I have a real aversion to the stereotypical images of women, especially growing up here in Southern California, so by accident I came across this website when I was looking for Barbie collectors. My mother loved the iconic doll, and I have a collection that would rival Tori Spelling’s. Anyway, when I learned about the Alternative Doll Convention, I decided to destroy the dolls and create art.”
Hmm, maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was looking for a woman with self-confidence, one that wasn’t constantly shooting herself up with Botox and searching for the fountain of youth. From the outside looking in, the array of severed doll parts, not to mention the bagged appendages and hair, seemed weird and creepy, but in retrospect it was probably very healthy for a woman to destroy what she secretly envied to boost her own self-worth and confidence. It made good sense to him, but it still didn’t explain why she was screaming and stabbing the air.
“Maybe you can show me the website later, but right now, I’d like to know what made you scream and nearly stab me to death.”
She took in a deep breath and loudly exhaled. He guessed she was relieved of one situation, but her green eyes avoided him,
She stirred a little. He patted her hand, and she squeezed his palm. “I’m getting you a cold washcloth.”
He went into her bathroom and returned with a moistened washcloth. He pushed her bangs to the side and placed the cool cloth on her forehead. He held her hand, giving her time to come to.
“Are you okay?”
“I-I think…” A tear rolled from the corner of her eye.
“It’s okay, stay still. We don’t have to talk about this right now. I’m going to see if you have any orange juice. Are you diabetic?”
She shook her head from side to side.
“Well, it couldn’t hurt for you to drink a small glass.”
He returned with the pulp-laced juice, surprised to find her out of bed and across the hall in the guest room that she’d converted to a yoga studio. He maneuvered past the dismembered doll parts and held out the glass of juice.
“You should drink this.”
She accepted the glass with a blank expression on her face, but he detected something troublesome in her eyes. They stood in silence. She drank the orange juice to avoid speaking, while he looked around the room. He had never seen a home yoga studio before.
Breathtaking landscapes lined the light gray walls of the windowless room, something he found peculiar, considering the picturesque artwork, featuring autumn trails, sun-glistened rocks and mountains, blue shorelines with bubbling waves, and stormy skylines cracked with lightning. A long bar was mounted against one wall. He guessed she used it for stretching.
He walked over to the array of knives, scalpels, and scissors scattered on the dark gray-carpeted floor. He turned over the familiar metal tray and placed the weapons on top. Disassembled dolls and plastic baggies filled with hair littered the floor. He placed the metal tray on the oblong table centered against the wall and then turned back to her. He didn’t know where to begin with the questions. This morning he’d found her disoriented, staring out at the ocean, and now this. His eyes went from the odd assortment of doll parts on the floor to her. She was out of orange juice and out of stalling time.
“Derrick, I know this stuff looks weird and you probably think I’m crazy, but it isn’t what you think.”
“What is all of this?”
She picked up the doll torso with the white lily stuck in its chest. “This is art. I was going to tell you about my hobby, but I was afraid you’d think I was weird. I wanted to tell you after we knew each other better.”
Great. The last thing he needed was a girlfriend who withheld information from him because even she thought her own interests far too strange for human consumption.
“Go on.”
“I recently got involved with the Alternative Doll Convention. I-I have a real aversion to the stereotypical images of women, especially growing up here in Southern California, so by accident I came across this website when I was looking for Barbie collectors. My mother loved the iconic doll, and I have a collection that would rival Tori Spelling’s. Anyway, when I learned about the Alternative Doll Convention, I decided to destroy the dolls and create art.”
Hmm, maybe this wasn’t as bad as he thought. He was looking for a woman with self-confidence, one that wasn’t constantly shooting herself up with Botox and searching for the fountain of youth. From the outside looking in, the array of severed doll parts, not to mention the bagged appendages and hair, seemed weird and creepy, but in retrospect it was probably very healthy for a woman to destroy what she secretly envied to boost her own self-worth and confidence. It made good sense to him, but it still didn’t explain why she was screaming and stabbing the air.
“Maybe you can show me the website later, but right now, I’d like to know what made you scream and nearly stab me to death.”
She took in a deep breath and loudly exhaled. He guessed she was relieved of one situation, but her green eyes avoided him,
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