This is my only doll.
I have had other dolls. He has had other people. But things didn't turn out the way either of us thought.
I never had an only doll, and he never was an only doll.
I loved my dolls. I had a dream of Johnny last week.
I dreamed I was in this deserted trailer park that was perfect for the type of photos I like to take. I was taking pictures of Leslie, but things were falling flat. I realized I still had Johnny in a box on the top shelf of my closet. I got him down, and started taking pictures of him, and everything felt right.
When I woke up I thought about Johnny, realized he was gone, and I thought about Leslie, and I realized he was downstairs. Just downstairs.
And something turned in my mind, something was healed.
No one is going to take Leslie away from you. He is yours forever.
I was never the best doll mommy. You know how it is. I purchase an expensive doll, certain that he will be "the one" to inspire my stories, and that I will be motivated to make him an entire hand-sewn wardrobe, and he will be a forum maven.
Then I take few photos, make one shirt, which I throw away because it is ugly, and don't post anything on the forum about him. This has happened over and over again, and that isn't to say that I didn't love my dolls, I just never did the things I hoped I would with them.
Leslie came to me third-hand, at least. I haven't done enough net stalking to find out more. But his last home was one of my favorite doll blogs, Miranda Wandering.
I did not take any box opening photos of Leslie. The man who was refinishing our wood floors was home to receive the box, and he put it in the great room. I found it when I got home from work. I took a knife, sliced open the box, and carefully unwrapped him.
I just held him and rocked him and felt like my heart would break. I didn't really care what he looked like or anything like that. I hadn't picked him because he had called to me. I had picked him because he was right for my household price-wise and otherwise.
I just held him and looked at him and took him in whatever room I was doing chores. When I cooked in the kitchen I sat him on the counter wearing an apron. I didn't take any pictures of him.
I don't take many pictures of him. There is no point. He is my doll. I can see him with my own eyes, and I will be seeing him for the rest of my life. I am not letting him go. No one is going to ask me. No one is going to make me.
Tonight, when I changed Leslie's wig and eyes, he looked different to me. He no longer looked like Marius with the wig and eyes he had in two previous homes. He became Leslie.
For the first time, I felt I was in the presence of someone, and I felt self-conscious. He was unfamiliar, because I had grown used to the black hair and green eyes. Now his eyes were slate blue, the pupils larger, and his hair was dark blonde.
He is someone. He is my only doll. I don't want any other dolls. I want him, and he wants to be special and singular, and he is, now that he is with me.
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