Page 15 of My Sweet Dollie, You Have to Love Me
Rolling onto my back, I clutch my leg, unable to straighten it out. Unable to worry about whatever grime clings to my pajama T-shirt. The pain controls me, and I can’t hear the cruel whispers in my head as I voice my agony.
Still, no one hears me.
And all I hear is my own sniffling.
Dad says boys aren’t meant to cry.
And as a tear drops into my ear, I force myself to make that the last one.
Rolling over, I put most of my weight on my good knee and use the walls for support. A break in the plaster catches beneath my fingers, and while still on my bleeding knees, I feel around, looking for a way out.
I return to the small clip, my hand rubbing back and forth as I realize what it is, and I fumble until the catch releases.
This door, much smaller than the other, pops open, leading me to two little doors. A flicker of light shines between them. I push, and the view in front of me changes from blackness to the kitchen. I glance back, staring into the dark. My eyes wander the room, wondering how many hidden passageways this ancient house has.
Mom and Dad are outside the back window. I open it when I stand because my lungs feel awful after almost inhaling cobwebs.
Mom has already put some paper towels on the window ledge. She has plans to start cleaning while we’re out. I drench one under the tap and wash my knees, hissing through the sting it causes.
I add the towels to the trash, where the pizza leftovers create an ugly smell in the kitchen, and I watch through the window as Mom and Dad decide together where to place the garden gnomes on the dirty patio. Both moan about the noise coming from down the way.
They agree with Dollie that we should have been invited to the party.
I couldn’t care less, confirming that thought in my head as I duck down, securing the passageway door before closing the kitchen cabinets.
The last gnome is placed, and I struggle to hop upstairs to get ready before my parents get inside to ask why I’m still not dressed, why my pajama bottoms are ripped, and why I’m bleeding down both legs.
“Anything you want to get, Champ?” Dad is at the register, paying for Dollie’s balloons.
She’d begged for one after we drove by this place, claiming the big one that looked like a clown was waving to her through the window.
Ironically, he wasn’t for sale, but she’s picked three others that she deems good enough backups, and Dad even had to talk her out of a fourth.
“Are the balloons for Little Miss Dahlia’s party?” asks the lady who takes Dad’s card. Her name tag says Clara.
She doesn’t look like a Clara. And I say that because one of the movies Dollie replays daily has a very different-looking Clara.
I take another look at the shelf in front of me, doing all I can to stay still for another second because my leg feels ready to snap. Making my decision, I finally leave the cluttered shelves and head their way with my chosen torch.
“No. We’re their new neighbors, but my kids weren’t asked. We’re gonna have our own party tonight, isn’t that right, darling?” Dad gives a smile to Dollie, who’s swinging on his trouser leg.
I step around her and over Duggan, who is dragging on the floor. If I’d tripped on that antelope, I’d have ripped the head off the damn thing. And I like Duggan—he keeps Dollie quiet.
“Yes, Daddy, and I can’t wait!”
Dad’s smile drops when I place the torch on the counter. “That’s what you’d like? Are you all of a sudden afraid of the dark?”
“Well, you can’t blame the poor boy living in that big house.” The cashier smiles at me. Her red lips seem out of place with her graying hair and lack of other makeup. She steps back as I look her over, still not feeling she’s suited to her name. “Oh, my goodness, that boy has the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen!”
“He has a love heart in his right one!” Dollie giggles, and I can’t help but wonder how she’s noticed that when she never looks me in the eye. Not often enough for her to have remembered the small cluster of hazel dots forming a heart against my green pupil.
I slump on my crutch and smile back at Clara, claiming my torch as soon as Dad pays.
I head to the door, knowing it’ll take me longer to get there.
Dollie rushes to my side. “What flavor are you getting, Amrose?”
She still wants ice cream.
