Barbie World (Baby Doll Series) Read online

  “No, not your house, my house.” He looks like he wants to protest, but he turns his truck in that direction.

  The house is dark and leering, just like the night I waged a war on it. Dylan kills the engine and, for a moment, I hesitate, fear numbs me and I feel frozen. I swallow back a scream that threatens to escape. Dylan is right next to me, his face set with determination. His jaw working back and forth.

  There is no sign of Everett and neither one of us call out his name, afraid to wake the resting demons. The afternoon sun offers little light, but it’s not dark enough to hide what happened here that night. Dylan’s sharp inhale tells me he spotted what I am trying to avoid looking at. The rusty color of dried blood that paints the hallway.

  “Back here, he might be back here,” I whisper, leading him down the familiar hall. I check my old room; it is just like I left it that night. Scattered make up on top of the dresser and a spool of blue ribbon tangled on the bed that I used to tie around my waist, but no Everett. We open closets, look under beds, but he is not here. We next go into my mother’s room; it is alive with past memories. A knocked over dresser, broken glass, a spilled whiskey bottle. I suck in the air that is stifling and heavy going down. The dirty smell of smoke turns my stomach.

  “Here he is, over here,” Dylan’s voice snaps me out of my comma.

  Everett is sitting in the corner. My mother’s robe swallowing him up. He is drawing on the wall with a broken red crayon; elaborate swirls and shapes that overlap each other into an intricate design.

  “I call them maps,” I say, feeling like I need to defend his odd behavior.

  “It is amazing,” Dylan says. I look up at him and see he believes his own words. I can see the awe in his eyes. I sit down next to Everett and kiss the top of his head. Dylan sits down next to me, wrapping his arms around his knees.

  “I just wish I knew what they meant. I know it is a clue into his world, but I don’t know what he is trying to say.”

  “I don’t think it really matters so much what he is saying, just that he is being heard,” Dylan says. Everett’s crayon stills and he looks at Dylan. “That is cool, buddy,” Dylan says out loud as he slowly signs to him. Everett turns back to the wall. “I am going to call my mom and tell her we found him.” Dylan leaves the room.

  I look back at Everett. “Hey, bud, you scared me,” I tell him. I don’t sign to him because I am not that good yet. “You can’t take off like that again. You really scared me.” He makes no movement that lets me know he heard or understood me.

  I lean against the wall, not ready to make him stop. I know he misses my mother and doesn’t understand why she has not come for him or why she went away. I let him work it out in his own way because he deserves that. God knows I have been working it out my own way

  I glance around the room; my mother’s closet is open, a few dresses hang off the hangers, scattered shoes are lying on the floor.

  Something catches my eye; it is not shiny or new. It is an old shoebox with tattered edges and looks like it is about to fall apart at any moment. It looks like it was held onto for a while and that is what catches my attention. My mother never hung onto anything. No memories of the past.

  I leave Everett to map and crawl over to the closet, plucking out the contents. My mouth goes dry as I open the lid. My mother cared about something enough to hang on to it. I start to pull the items out one by one and lay them on the floor next to me; a doll, a necklace with a small music note charm on it, newspaper clippings of unknown bands, and a small plastic hospital bracelet with Everett’s name on it, a lock of brown hair and a postcard. It is the postcard that has me frozen. It is just a few hurried scribbles, but the scribbles have the power to change everything.

  Chapter 19.

  Dylan

  We drive back to my house, Everett, still wrapped up in a ratty old robe that must be his mother’s, sits between us. Barbie is pale and looks like she might pass out at any moment. Obviously still shaken about Everett.

  We get back to the house where we are met by my family. Emmy runs out and hugs Everett, my mom kisses his small face and my dad ruffles up his hair.

  “Oh, Evie, why did you run away? Did you not want to be at my birthday party?” Emmy squeezes him tight.

  “Oh, that doesn’t matter, Emmy, it only matters that he is back and safe.” Mom pulls him into a tight hug; poor kid can’t even go and get a break without these two smothering him.

  “He just needed some space.” I pry Emmy off him. “You guys are smothering the poor kid,” Emmy’s eyes well up. Crap.

  “He is my bestest friend, Dylan,” she shouts.

  “Dylan!” my mom yells at me.

  “I am sorry,” Everett signs to Emmy. We all still and stare at him. This is the first time he has ever spoken or signed to anyone. It is one simple word “sorry.” It is the loudest word any of us has ever heard.

  “It’s okay, Evie, just remember what we said. Best friends.” Emmy wraps her pinkie around his.

  Barbie falls to her knees, looking between her brother and my sister. “Emmy, has he spoken to you before?” Now her eyes swell.

  “Yeah. I don’t always understand what the signs mean,” she says.

  “How long? How long has he been talking to you, Emmy?” my mother asks.

  “Forever.” She scrunches her face, annoyed by the question. “He is my best friend.”

  My father breaks up the emotional breakdown my mother and Barbie are having. “All right, let’s give the poor kid a break. I believe we have a very large, pink cake that is waiting to be eaten in the kitchen.”

  I sit at the table, stuffing another piece of cake into my mouth. Barbie sits across from me, swirling the icing with her finger and then sucking the pink frosting off her finger. I want to tell her that I know she has been sneaking out and I have been covering for her. Partly because I hope it will stop her from seeing that guy, even though I doubt it.

  “So are you going out tonight?” I ask.

  “No,” she says defensively.

  “Oh, I thought that you might go out again tonight with that guy…Kai” I take another bite of my cake, it turns my stomach.

  “I don’t see anyone when I leave.” she lies to me and I wish she wouldn’t. I wish she felt safe enough to be able to share the truth with me.

  Chapter 20.

  Barbie

  My heartbeat thumps loudly in my chest as I wipe my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. I should not be nervous, I should be angry, but I am so damn nervous my teeth chatter together. Shit, they keep it cold in here. I glance around the room I am sitting in; a white, windowless cinder-blocked room. There is no escaping here.

  The florescent lights flicker overhead while I finger the gold chain on my neck, my finger coming to rest on the music note that dangles from the chain. A loud, buzzing goes off and a lady on a static-filled speaker announces visitation begins in thirty minutes. I watch behind my bulletproof glass as women in orange jumpsuits walk past the window. One of the women stops and smiles at me before making a vulgar gesture with her mouth. My lip curls in disgust, showing her I am not amused. She laughs and continues to walk on. Then I see her and my chest constricts, tightening my heart, threatening to squeeze off my oxygen supply. I swore to myself I would never see her again. The last visit she could not give me what I wanted. Answers.

  She smiles when she sees me. My mother was always thin, but she looks so fragile now. A harsh difference from how I remembered her. Her long, mousey brown hair hangs in greasy strings down her shoulders. The orange jumpsuit she wears swims on her. Her cheeks are hallowed out to match the dark purple circles that are around her eyes. Her shaking hand reaches for the black phone that is attached to the matching one on my end. I hesitate before picking it up.

  “Baby doll. My sweet baby doll. I miss you.” Does she not remember the teary phone conversation we had last week? The one where I told her I hated her and never wanted to speak to her again.

  “Momma,” I b
reathe into the phone.

  “I love your hair. You were always so pretty. I was never as pretty as you growing up.” She smiles weakly and places her hand on the glass as if she could touch me through it. I want so badly to place my cheek in her hand, to get the comfort I need from her. “So tell me, how’s Everett doing? Is he here, too? I miss my baby boy so bad,” she rambles on.

  “Momma, I went to the house. Mr. Finn is renting it out.” Her brows furrow for a moment as she process this turn of events. No more home, but we have been homeless before, sleeping from one of her coworker’s couches to one of her drug dealers.

  She smiles. “Don’t worry, baby doll, we will get a new place. A better place. When I get out of here, maybe we can get one with a pool; you would like that, right? I know Evie would.”

  “Momma,” I cut her off. I want to tell her there will be no apartment with a swimming pool. That she lost us for good. If I didn’t need answers, I wouldn’t be here. “Momma, when I was at the house, I found this.” I pull the yellowed postcard from my back pocket and press it up against the glass.

  “Where-” She clutches at her neck.

  “In the closet. I found it in the shoe box, Momma. I thought you said your momma ran out on you?” I keep the card pressed to the glass.

  She hesitates before answering me, “She did. I was sixteen when I got that letter from her. It was full of broken promises. Promises she couldn’t keep.” Her eyes stay fixed on the postcard.

  I take it off the glass and take out the picture of my grandmother and her out. “Momma, do you know where she is?” She shakes her head no. “I saw her that one night she was playing at the Wink Theatre. She sent me a ticket. I was so excited to see her, I thought… “ she trails off. “Why do you want to know about her, Barbie? She did nothing except turn her back on me.” How history repeats itself.

  “Can you tell me where she is?”

  “No. I don’t know where she is.” Her head hangs down for a moment. “Tell me about your new place; how do ya like it?”

  A voice comes over the crackling speaker, announcing five more minutes until visiting time is up.

  “Can you tell me anything about her?” I beg.

  She shakes her head again. “There is nothing to tell, Barbie, why do you want to know about her all of a sudden?” she snaps.

  “Can you tell me her name?” I try pleading again

  “One minute left.”

  My mother stands with the phone still to her ear. “Will you come again next week?”

  “Mom, please.”

  “Will you come?” she asks, her brows knit together.

  “Yes,” I sigh. No matter how much I hate her, I still need her.

  ###

  “So how did you feel about seeing your mother the other day?” Mrs. White asks. She holds up a legal notepad so close to her nose that it is practically touching the pointy tip. There is no avoiding this conversation, as much as I want to; I also want to tell someone.

  “Just peachy.” I smile at her.

  “I figured as much,” is all she says, jotting down a few words. God, it is cold in here, she has the window unit on full blast and I am right in the current’s direction. It reminds me of the prison and I wonder if my mother has enough blankets to keep her warm at night. She was always so cold when she was at home. “How did she look? Did she change much?” Her words slice through my worrying. I close my eyes, remembering how small she was and the dark circles under her eyes.

  I open my eyes and look at a very eager looking Mrs. White. “Like shit.” I close my eyes again.

  Mrs. White sighs. “It figures.” God, can she say anything else. She thinks she knows it all. That she knows me or my mother.

  “Your mother is still detoxing,” she offers me and I remember the way my mother’s hands shook and how she tried to hide them in the arms of her jump suit. I wonder who she will be once all the drugs and liquor are out of her system. Will I recognize her? Will she recognize herself? “She has a long journey ahead of her. Addiction is a disease and it affects everyone who is involved.” She preaches to the choir with that one because I know that better than anyone, I am the poster child of drug addicted parents. “You do not have to go on that journey with her, you have a choice.” She says and I sit up looking at Mrs. White.

  I swallow around the lump that is growing in my throat. Those words are nice and it is nice to think that I can choose to walk away from her and leave the ugly mess she created behind, however that’s the thing, words always sound nice. Saying and doing are two different things and, the truth is, I don’t think I really have a choice.

  Chapter 21.

  Dylan

  I have been doing exactly what Barbie asked of me, I am leaving her alone, which is turning out to be harder than I thought, but I am trying to prove to her that I can do the right thing and be a standup guy.

  “I don’t get why you are doing this,” Katie complains. I don’t explain again to her for the fifteenth time that I am doing this for the experience. That I need to learn more about lighting. Besides, Mrs. Berry offered me thirty bucks to take a picture of her cat.

  “Are you going to complain the whole time or are you going to help me?” I ask her annoyed. Her bottom lip quivers like she is about to cry. I cannot take this girl much longer, she is driving me freaking insane.

  “This has to do with Barbie, doesn’t it?” There is a shrillness to her voice.

  “Yes, me taking pictures of Mrs. Berry cat has everything to do with Barbie,” I snap, shouldering the bag of lenses.

  “Oh, Dylan. Good, you are here. Mr. Fitzgerald just finished up with his bath,” Mrs. Berry says from her front door, ending the fight between Katie and me prematurely.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Berry,” Katie says, smiling. God forbid anyone sees her as anything other than the perfect little southern bell she tries to portray, but I know the truth. The truth is, she is a self-conscious, insecure, spoiled brat. I know I am not helping with her insecurities with Barbie, either.

  The other night, while Katie and I were watching a movie, I full on stared at Barbie as she skipped into the kitchen with Emmy and Everett. Emmy was making them play princes and dragons. Barbie was skipping around the kitchen in a green dress and a pair of green butterfly wings with green glitter smeared on her cheeks. She was barefoot and growling at Everett and Emmy who were hiding under the table. She was just so wild and beautiful. it was incredible seeing her smile like that, I couldn’t help but stare. Katie was so mad that she grabbed her purse and stormed out the front door. Before I chased after Katie, Barbie and my eyes locked for a few precious seconds. I coaxed Katie in with the lies that she is the only girl I care about.

  “Wait until you see the outfit that I picked out for Mr. Fitzgerald.” Mrs. Berry claps her hands together. I stepped into the very doilied living room to find a very scrawny, very pissed off looking tabby cat. “Isn’t he the most precious thing you’ve ever seen?” Mrs. Berry scoops up the cat and begins to wrestle him into an over coat and top hat. “There you go, Mr. Fitzgerald. You look as handsome as the day is long.” She places the cat on a silk pillow and he jumps off in an attempt to remove the costume. “You see, I am entering Mr. Fitzgerald in the Mr. Kitty chow contest. He is very photogenic. Ah, shit. Katie, will you be a dear and help me catch him, sometimes the poor dear gets camera shy. Now, Dylan, you set up and we will go get him. Katie, come on, girl. He likes to hide under my bed and I am not gonna fit under there.”

  After a few minutes Katie and Mrs. Berry return with a hissing Mr. Fitzgerald, Katie’s eyes are round and the size of saucers. She is also sporting a few fresh scratches on her arm. I zoom in on her holding him and snap a picture, checking the setting, plus it is pretty funny that Katie is looking so disheveled for once in her life, so much so that I have to capture the moment.

  “Dylan, don’t take my picture. I am not ready,” she warns. I ignore her and zoom in on the cat and take another picture.

  “Place him back on
the pillow.” Mrs. Berry directs Katie.

  After a few cat break-aways and seven costume changes, which included a historical civil war costume and pink tutu, we are back in my truck, headed into town. Katie is hungry and wants organic salad from Tiger Lily Café; even though it is on the complete opposite side of town everyone knows they are as organic as Mr. Fritzgareled likes having his picture taken. Katie is mad at me again. I sigh through my nose because I need to fix this, right?

  “Are you going to stay pissed off at me?” I ask her as I turn onto Main Street.

  “I just don’t understand. Why the sudden interest in photography?” She shifts so she is facing me and I have a flashback of Barbie sitting in that same spot, her bare feet posted up on my dash board. “Dylan?” Katie shakes me from the dream. “Why do you always do that?” She pouts.

  “Do what?” I grip tightly onto the steering wheel.

  “Get these far off looks and zone out. You’re thinking of her, aren’t you?” Her lip quivers.

  I park in front of the restaurant and cut off the engine. Do I lie or tell the truth? Lying is coming easy to me now and I am not sure I like who I am becoming. I am not sure I like who I am when I am with Katie. I am pretending to be someone I am not and it is so tiring. I lean my head back in my seat and pinch the bridge of my nose.

  “What do you want to hear, Katie?”

  “I want the truth, Dylan, and I deserve that. I have done nothing wrong and it is just not fair. I have been a good girlfriend.” Her voice cracks and she is right, she deserves the truth and it is not fair, me tugging her along because I think it appeases my mother and Barbie. It just makes me a douche bag. God, why do I let the women in my life dictate the decisions I make?

  “I was in love with you for so long, at least, I thought I was in love, but it was the idea of you. I thought you were the perfect girl and you are, but…”

  “But not for you, right?” Her voice is harsh, any weakness that was in it before is gone.