Through Porcelain Eyes

Through Porcelain Eyes

By Janet Carpenter

I’m still waiting. I’ve been waiting a long time already, but I think it’s going to be even longer. How long? I don’t know…a year? A decade? A generation? That’s how long it was last time. I waited a whole generation to be remembered…to be loved.

I remember the very first time I got picked, though. It was special. A beautiful little girl named Marie picked me, out of all the others. She said, “Oh Daddy! It has to be this one!” I was so excited and proud. The daddy lifted me off the shelf and handed me to Little Marie. She held me and never let me go.

We had a long car ride through a big city where many people were walking by really fast. Then the drive changed to fields and orchards of trees…so many trees! Row after row of green trees with colorful fruit hanging off the branches. Finally we got to a really, really big house.

The driver got out and opened the door for us. He called Little Marie, “My Lady”, or something funny like that. She did a little “curtsy” when we got out, but she never let me go! Then she ran inside and up, up, up the big staircase. We went through a big door…and I was home!

Little Marie’s bedroom was full of light. The curtains were soft-looking, and you could still see so many trees through the window! She had a little desk, and a miniature house with tiny little furniture. The rug had beautiful colors in it like it was from somewhere far away. And the bed was big, with carved wooden poles sticking up on all the corners. I think this must be how a princess lived!

I had the “place of honor” on her bed. Teddy and Dog were pushed aside. I remember they weren’t too happy about that. But I spent so many hours with Marie! She combed my hair, changed my dress, and would set me down at the little table and chairs for tea. She would carry me under her arm down the big stairs and out into the yard and we would get on the swing for hours! Up, up, up…like we were flying! And she never let me go. She would tell me secrets at night in bed, giggling and planning all the places in the world that we were going to see. Sometimes we dressed up and played “make-believe” with Teddy and Dog. They always liked to be included. That was the best time I can remember.

Then there was the fire. Everybody was shouting and running from room to room. “Marie!” they were yelling, “Marie!” There was so much stomping throughout the house; the servants running around all looking for Little Marie. But mostly I remember the Daddy’s voice sounding so…desperate. “We are here!” I wanted to shout from the bedroom closet, “We’re in here!” But she held me so tight, hiding in the dark, away from the fire. When the door opened, the daddy scooped up Marie and said, “Thank God!” His face was wet, like his eyes were leaking.

“Put the doll down!” he shouted at her, “We’ve got to get out!” But Marie wouldn’t let me go. She just hugged me tighter. Teddy and Dog, they got left behind, and I never saw them again.

After the fire, we moved. Now we were in the city with all the people going by. Little Marie had a much smaller room, a smaller bed, and my place was now on a shelf high up on a wall. Little Marie sounded different, too. Her voice was a whisper, and she made funny gurgling noises all the time. She asked for me, but the lady in white kept saying, “Hush, now, and get better. Your daddy is counting on you.”

All sorts of people would come and go, checking on Little Marie…the lady in white; a serious old man that had a big beard and “listened” to Little Marie’s chest with a long rope; a young “housekeeper” that straightened the blankets as if Marie were not even inside them! All their voices were soft and beautiful. They fed Marie and wiped her face, but nobody looked happy. The saddest of all was Daddy. Sometimes he would come in after dark with his hat and coat still on and sit by her bed. Sometimes he would just talk to her, tell her about his busy day. Other times he dressed normal-looking, and would try to read to her, holding her hand…but then his eyes would start leaking and his voice sounded funny. Then he would make funny noises, too, sobbing and praying. Little Marie didn’t move much in that little bed, but I swear she asked for me every night.

Marie never got out of that bed…never played with me again…never held me tight. One day a lot of people came at the same time and stood around the bed. Some of them were standing close together, holding each other with their eyes all leaking. That was the last time I saw Little Marie. The old man with the beard covered her up and then they took her away. After that, the door to her room was closed, and I was alone on the shelf for a long, long time.

One day, the door opened, and there were new people…another little girl. She was skinny with blond braids and knobby knees sticking out beneath her dress. She looked very different from Little Marie…and not just her hair and clothes. She didn’t have the happy light shining from her eyes like Marie always did. This little girl had her eyebrows together in a frown and had a very serious face. She looked around the dusty room and finally noticed me on the shelf. She said something to the man beside her. “Yes, that was Marie’s” he replied.

She looked around the tiny room a little more, then stepped over to the shelf and pointed at me with her skinny finger. “I want that,” she said, and the man reached up and took me off the shelf. He started to slap the dust off my pretty dress with his big, rough hands, and the smoky cloud that rose up made him cough. He put me in the stiff arms of the new little girl. She held me out, looking at me with cold eyes, shrugged, and took me out of the room.

We went to a different house, and I was now on a different shelf in a different bedroom. I found out the new little girl’s name was Olive Pearl, but she never combed my hair or played with me. I sat there on that shelf every day, waiting. Sometimes I would hear other voices and the door would open, and Olive Pearl would lead a bunch of other little girls over to the shelf to show me off. But they never took me down to play tea party or make-believe, and she never once held me tight…like Little Marie did. I sat on the shelf, but that’s as close to Olive Pearl as I ever got.

I watched her grow up, change into a woman, and then leave. But I never got to play ever again. And so, I waited…waited to be remembered. Waited to be loved.

Finally the door opened and some different-looking people came in. I heard them say “Estate Sale”, and they started packing up everything in boxes…including me! I was wrapped in paper and rolled up like a rug, then put in the dark for what seemed like a long time. When the box was finally opened, there was a pretty face staring at me. “There you are!” she said. She smiled, and unwrapped me like a present. She was a “mommy-lady” with a kind voice and a happy face. She took me out of the box and said, “Oh my! Look how beautiful you are!” There were other people around, too, and they all came to look. “I think we can replace the hair,” said one. “Oh, and I have the perfect dress!” said another. Together they fixed me up. I got cleaned and stuffed with brand new material…my hair got changed, and my dress is perfect!

Then they carried me out to a room filled with so many things! Kitchen things were next to bedroom things…and a table looked like it was “set” for tea! I got so excited!

And then I was put on a shelf again. I have a funny little white tag on my wrist with a number on it…I don’t know what it means. But I’m still waiting. Lots of people come into the little, crowded room at the “ding” of a bell and look around. Some people say things, “buy” things, and leave. But I’m still waiting…waiting for the right person to find me. Waiting to be remembered…waiting to be loved.