Barbie World (Baby Doll Series)

by Acosta, Heidi

  He runs his thumb across my jaw line, causing my head to tilt up in his direction. There is a heat burning behind his eyes. Dylan has touched me before and we have shared more than one hot make out session, but this is different. It is like he wants me to memorize every touch. His thumb traces my bottom lip, pulling it open slightly. “You are the one thing I want more than anything. I have never wanted someone as bad as I want you,” he says in a gravelly voice and then his mouth is on mine. The heat in my stomach explodes, setting every cell in my being on fire. I wrap my arms around the back of his neck, pulling him deeper. I need him. I need him desperately to wake this sleeping dragon inside me. To make me feel feelings I have tried for so long to numb. They are defrosting and coming alive with a fierceness that jolts me awake.

  I splay my hands thru his wavy hair and before I know it, I am off the ground and my legs are wrapped around his hips. He cups me from behind while I drown in him and I cannot breathe. He pushes up against me, releasing something deep inside of me. I need him closer and, as if he can sense what I need, he leans harder into me his weight presses against me and I cry out his name. His tongue flicks inside my mouth, meeting mine. I break away, tilting my head back and he nips at my neck. Each tender bite triggering a moan to escape from deep inside of me. I whimper, calling out his name. I don’t want this to end, but he stops and brushes his nose below my ear while still clutching onto me, my back still pressed into the wall behind me.

  “God, you smell so good. It is making me crazy.” He says. My heart drops to my stomach and flitters before it rests back into my chest. I lean my head back. The sky is velvet, dusted with glittering stars. The air blows, sending a chill down my spine. I am so awake and aware now that my mouth is not on Dylan’s and the fog is beginning to clear. A muddle of emotions stir inside me, awakened, long buried demons begin to lurk in the chasms of my mind. I can feel their sharp claws dragging on my mind’s surface and I fight the tears that burn at the back of my throat.

  I am struck by a sudden loss as what I went through this year begins to weigh heavily on me. He has done it once again, exposed me, opening up wounds I’ve tried to forget. How can I sit in a room with a trained therapist and nothing, however with one touch of his, I am flustered. I am scared of the whirlwind of emotions that are pouring out of me.

  Dylan clutches at my leg; my inner thigh is tingling from the touch of his bare skin against mine. My cheeks burn slightly from the heat that travels up from my feet.

  I am not used to feeling embarrassed, but being so emotionally exposed, I feel like I am standing in front of him naked. He rubs his nose against the soft skin under my chin and sets my feet gently on the ground. Feelings about Dylan that I wanted to forget-that I tried to forget-are back, within the hurricane that is brewing inside me. Spinning around with my heart as a victim. However, each time feelings for him swim to the surface, I feel safe, warm, yet confused.

  I smooth down my wet dress, trying to grip onto something solid, afraid to leave the wall that is offering me support. Dylan leans his head against mine. “Angel, I am not going anywhere, I am going to help you get through this. Whatever it is that is happening, I know you can make it through this. You are the strongest person I know. I wish I had one ounce of the strength in me that you do,” he says.

  He might not realize it, but he is strong. He is strong enough to pillage the fortress that I have built around myself; a once unbreakable fort and now pieces of me lay about in a pile of rubble,.

  My lips throb from where his once lingered. I touch them, lost for words. “Okay, well, this is a little awkward.” He laughs as he stares at me. “In my mind, it went totally different.” He pushes off the wall and runs his hand through his already adorably messy hair, messing it up more.

  “How did you think it would go?” I croak. He shrugs his shoulders. My eyes follow the bare rise and fall of his chest, lingering there before my eyes find his mouth.

  “I don’t know. Maybe I thought you would break and take me back. Admit that you really miss me?” he confesses. I do. I have been trying to ignore that I miss him so much that it is almost debilitating. I miss him so badly that I want to scream and fall to the ground, curling into myself.

  “I am not strong,” I say, barely above a whisper.

  He stops running his hands through his hair. His hands still on his head as he looks at me. Really looking at me and I am ashamed at what he sees before him. He drops his hands and steps to me, pulling me into his arms. I feel the strength in them that was not there before.

  “You are strong. You are strong when others are not.”

  I swallow the thick saliva that has developed in my mouth. “What if it is a mistake finding her? She has stayed gone for a reason.” There, what I am truly fearful of has finally come out. I slide down the wall and grip my knees. “I need her to tell me why she left my mother. I need to know why my mother is the way she is… I need to know that it is not because of me,” I tell him.

  He sits down next to me, pulling me into a hug. “No matter what happens when you find her, nothing is your fault. I will be there with you the entire time,” he says.

  The problem is I don’t know if he’s right.

  ###

  Three hours and we are in Savannah. Savannah is like nothing I have seen before; there is a mixture of old and new. The cobblestone streets are lined with brick buildings. We turn down one of the tree lined streets.

  “Over there.” I point to a bar.

  I am nervous, my hands are horribly sweaty and I feel like puking. The Purple Dragon blends in with its surrounding buildings, but it looks different from the rest of them to me.

  “It looks closed,” Third points out. We take a detour down a side street and Kai parallel parks against the building.

  “What should we do?” Roxie asks and everyone looks at me for direction.

  “We wait.”

  After we get something to eat, we find a small festival going on in the town center. Third and Roxie run off to ride some of the rickety rides.

  “Want to go ride the Zipper,” Dylan asks.

  “No. I think I just need a moment by myself,” I say.

  I leave Kai and Dylan to themselves and I walk off. I have no place in mind, I just walk, letting my mind wander. Tonight is the night I find out the truth. The truth that can heal my broken family.

  I make my way past the festival and down to a dock that sits looking over a salt marsh. I sit until the sun begins to set I watch the sun that is glowing orange. I sit there until the sun turns pink. Eventually, I hear footsteps approaching. I don’t glance up, knowing it is Third by the sound of his feet and the heavy sound of his breathing. He sits down next to me with a thud, his sandaled feet dangling next to mine.

  “Here” He hands me a pink cotton candy while he holds another one in his other hand. His lips are tinged blue from the sugar.

  “Thanks.” I take it from him and pull a small piece off, popping it into my mouth, letting it melt on my tongue. “Where is Roxie?” I ask. With all that has been going on with me, I have not even bothered to see how Third has been doing.

  “She is back at the fair, riding the zipper with your men.” He smiles.

  “They are not my ‘men’.” I roll my eyes at him.

  “I know. So, shit, you must be freaking out.”

  I cock my eyebrows at him. “Yeah, I am.” I lay my head on his shoulder and look out at the pink sun setting against the blue water. “Third?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thanks.” I take another piece of cotton candy.

  ###

  I look at the faded gold letters above the door. “Josephine Starr.” I can barely make out her name in the dim light of the hall. A light flickers above, threatening to go out while music pulsates around me, vibrating the walls. I knock on the door, waiting for the answers I need.

  “Who you looking for, honey?” a waitress not much older than me asks. She wears black shorts and a tight, red tank top that matches her b
lood red lips. She flicks her cigarette butt out a door that is propped open with a rusty, industrial sized can.

  My throat goes dry before I answer her. “Josephine Starr. She is my grandmother,” I add. I don’t want her to get sketched out about me poking around back here. I was not exactly invited.

  “Yeah, well, don’t bother knocking. She is probably passed out drunk.” She looks me up and down before shaking her head and leaving the hall.

  I take a deep breath and push open the door, stumbling in. The room is not very big, maybe the size of a glorified closet. Red silk scarves hang from a lamp, casting a soft glow around the room. Old posters of unknown bands, their edges peeling away from the wall, sit behind a ratty purple couch. Clothes spill out of a dingy, broken trunk and little trinkets of perfume and costume jewelry sit amongst the makeup that litters a broken vanity. A lit cigarette burns in an ashtray on a coffee table next to a glass of amber liquid.

  In the distance a toilet flushes before a woman stumbles out. She has on a silk black robe with red roses climbing up the fabric. Not noticing me, she stumbles pass me to the purple couch in the corner, falling down on the ripped seat, its foam guts protruding with each movement. She reaches for the liquid, putting the glass to her lips. She stops. My eyes go up to hers and all the air is sucked out of the room.

  The room begins to spin rapidly as her lips move, but I don’t hear anything except for the sound of the air rushing back into the room. I inhale a mixture of cheap perfume and cigarettes.

  “If you are looking for Reed honey, he doesn’t show up until last minute, if he even bothers to show up at all, that son of a bitch. As soon as I find a new guitarist, he is out. You can tell him that if you see him.” She downs the contents of her glass, placing it back onto the water ringed table.

  I smooth down the front of my dress, my other hand smoothing down any hair that might have escaped from my ponytail. “I am not looking for Reed.” I say, clearing my throat from the heavy perfume in the air.

  She looks me up and down with a glare before she stands up. Her feet are steadier under her now as she walks over to a rack of clothes that stands in the center of the room. “Well, who you looking for then, sweetheart. I hope it isn’t Liam because, I tell you, a nice innocent girl like yourself has no business getting mixed up with a bad boy like him.”

  “I am not looking for any boys. I came here to find you.” She turns to me, holding a rhinestone tank top to her chest.

  “Well, then, what can I do you for?” She turns back to the rack. “If you think I can help you out with any of the silly, girlish, rock star fantasies you might have, you can forget about it. I done lost any contact I might have had a long time ago.”

  I take a deep breath and watch Josephine hum and sway to the faint vibration of music coming through the walls. “I am Barbie Starr,” I say to her back.

  She stiffens, going still at the sound of my name for a moment before her shoulders relax again. She strolls away from the rack of clothes to the vanity, grabbing a pack of cigarettes off it. She looks me up and down again closely then lights up a cigarette, blowing the smoke into the stale air.

  “Well, shit. I always knew my past would catch up to me one day. What do you want? Money?” She laughs shortly. “Well then darlin’, you can keep on walking, I barely make enough singing for my own supper.”

  “No.” I shake my head, reaching my hand towards her. The desire to fling myself in her arms is so strong. I want to lean my head against her chest and hear the comfort of the steady beat of her heart. I want to feel her love wash over, cleansing me of my past. I want her to whisper soothing words to me that were never heard as a child.

  I want her to say she never meant to leave my mother behind. That she dreams that she had a granddaughter. That she had always wanted a granddaughter.

  She looks at my outstretched hand and takes a deep drag off her cigarette. “So, I take it you’re Ashley’s daughter. You look nothing like her.” She drags in the smoke and I drop my hand, feeling defeated. “Look kid, I have to go on in a few moments. It was nice to meet you, best of luck with… yeah… whatever it is you are doing in your life.” With that, she turns her back on me, dismissing me, and walks back over to the vanity. I don’t leave, though. I have come too far to be turned away. I came here for answers and I am going to get them.

  “You have two grandsons, too… and another granddaughter, Roe. She belongs to your son, Adam.”

  She sighs, drenching her neck in sickly sweet perfume that drifts towards the ceiling, mixing with the cloud of smoke that leers there. She looks up and her hand stills while her eyes lock onto mine. “Is that so? Look, if you came here looking for a grandmother. It is not me.” She goes back to the mirror, replacing the perfume with red lipstick.”

  “She is in jail… My mother… Ashley, your daughter,” I blurt out. I feel my time with her spiraling quickly away.

  Putting down the tube of lip stick, she turns to me, sighing. “Well, ain’t that a bitch.” There is a long, pregnant pause before she asks me again. “Why did you come here? Because if it is for an apology for running out on your momma or wanting me to play grandma to a bunch of raggedy, snot nose kids, you are looking for the wrong person.” She turns back to the mirror and begins to line her eyes in a heavy charcoal.

  I can see my face in hers. The hint of freckles on the bridge of her nose; it is like I am looking into the future at myself. Her long, dark brown hair has two blond strips framing her oval face.

  “Why?” I whisper, backing up to the wall for support.

  I didn’t really know what to expect, but her words are sharp with her truth and it stings like I have been slapped in the face. Maybe deep down, I always knew she would reject me like she rejected my mother, but that irrational side of me that has come from living with the Knights had begun to stomp out that urge to fight or flee. Maybe it is their stupid family dinners or the way they all seem to sickly love each other that made that fantasy of having a grandmother claw its way up to the forefront of my mind.

  Her hand stills as she looks at me through the mirror. “Why what?” Her voice is raspy like smoked one too many cigarettes in her lifetime.

  “Why did you leave her?” If she refuses to be the grandmother I need, then she can at least bring closure to my mother. She owes her that.

  She sets down the makeup and pivots on her stool to face me. “I was young. I thought I was in love, but he turned out to be one sorry, low life, drunk, son of a bitch. Knocked me up before we got down the aisle of the justice of the peace. Maybe I was running away from my own daddy. He was a fast boy with a slick tongue.”

  She pauses and I see a weight that was not there before settle on her shoulders. She shakes her head and laughs to herself. “I tell you what; your momma didn’t make life any easier on me. She was a spitfire with a sassy mouth that you couldn’t smack straight. When I was pregnant with her and her brother, I would see the other ladies around town holding their bright-eyed, round cheeked babies and I thought to myself, Joe, your baby is going to be the most beautiful baby in town. How could she not with her handsome daddy and me being her makers. Well, she came out an ugly, skinny, wailing little thing. I took one look at her and I told the doctor that he brought me the wrong baby.” She laughs and my stomach rolls at the thought. It didn’t matter what my momma did, she was doomed right from the start. She had never been good enough for Josephine.

  “The other ladies told me to give her some time that she would come into her looks. Well, that ain’t never happened and before you go judging me, I tried. I stayed as long as I could, but Max, he kept on drinking every night. He would come home a little drunker than the night before. I got real good, covering up those bruises, and one day, while I was covering up a black eye, I looked at myself in the mirror and I was twenty-three with two kids and one was a smart mouth little girl that I never asked for. I was letting my dreams and life pass me by. I was too young. So I made my face up and went down to the local drugstore
and got your momma a real pretty doll; one with blue eyes and blond hair. I sat her down and gave her that doll and said, ‘Now, darling, maybe if you wish just hard enough, you will look like this here dolly and then you will find a real nice boy who will love you and take care of you.’ She held onto that doll and didn’t say one word to me as I packed. That was the last time I saw your momma or your uncle. I walked to the bus stop and I left that small life. I was leaving for bigger and better things. I was meant for bigger things. I was never meant to be a mother. I was no good at it,” she finishes and smiles like that explains everything.

  In her selfishness, she managed to start a domino effect that has hurt more people than she can even begin to imagine. Maybe the dominos started to fall long before her, from her own mother. I will never know, but I do know that she is a selfish woman who left her daughter with a drunk. She was not strong enough to stop the fall, but maybe I am. I don’t know what to say to her. My mouth opens and shuts, trying to come up with the words I need to tell her.

  I need to say that because of her, my mother is an addict. That because of her, my mother searched for love with all the wrong men. That because of her, my mother was too selfish to love me. However, I don’t; I can’t. I feel sick my stomach; it rolls with the thoughts that the same blood is coursing through me. That I am no better than the woman before me. That I have her in me.

  I turn, pulling the door open, needing to get away from her as fast as I can. I am going to be sick. The blood pumping through me curdles as I stumble through the stifling hot hall. The smell of alcohol and sweat mix together, trapped in the narrow hallway, making me gag. The sound of music from the room on the other side of these walls ricochets off the brick, rattling me to my core. I pull open the back door just in time to retch onto the street. I stumble down the stairs and fall to the dirty pavement, retching up every vile thing that is a part of me. The things I cannot change.