Playing God

“It feels like I’m playing god..a little bit.”

I clear my throat. Shift in my seat. This is the first time Echo and I have met in person since the pandemic. It was all telehealth until now.

“Mhm.” Echo nods her head slowly, a trait I have a feeling will become familiar. “And is this god-like feeling empowering to you? As an artist, I would imagine you gain some kind of comfort. Or satisfaction.”

Satisfaction. A funny word to use in this instance but one that makes sense. Satisfying a forgotten need. That’s really what this is all about. Except that I truly believe they want this too. The dolls. To be alive.

I burst through the door and my girlfriend screams. Our apartment is on the first floor so sometimes she doesn’t hear me coming. I laugh a little, taking off my mask and hanging it by the door. She shuffles over, embarrassed. I nuzzle my head into her shoulder.

“I had an idea today! For a new doll. Echo inspired me.”

I add a little sparkle to the word inspire. Always gets me excited—seeing their faces in my head. Then beneath my hand under wet paint. God-like is certainly the right word. I can see why an intelligent hand would craft such creatures to begin with.

I am grateful for my hands.

Gabby grins up at me, still wrapped in a hug.

“Oh yeah, baby bug? Tell me about them. Come sit with meee!”

We flop onto the bed and I settle into twisting my hair and staring up at the ceiling. Eye contact has never been my strong suit.

“Ok. So he has a little vest, right? I was thinking of using that orange canvas left over from my weirdo shirt. The one I made with Aloni?”

Gabby nods. She remembers all of my creations. Even the ones I forget.

“Yeah. So, I’m thinking of painting purple spots on the vest and making him about Quinn’s fairy size. Remind me to drop her off by the way?”

I don’t wait for a response and she doesn’t offer, just keeps smiling knowing I’ll pause when sanity returns. She starts to doodle. It’s an autism thing.

“In fact, I’m going to grab some of that hair in the medicine cabinet! The shavings from when we first dyed yours...”

Before I jump up, I lean in to kiss her smiling cheek. Gabby deserves love and I’m working on remembering to show it more. She giggles.

On my way to the bathroom I step over piles and piles of clothes we’ve been dragging out of the closet for weeks. We’re not the greatest at laundry day and the latest solution is to just say “fluck it,” and throw half of it away. I’m fully intent on squirreling away my favorites, though. Can always use new fabric.

“Tell me where your love lies...” I hum a familiar ear worm as I snatch the small pile of curly copper hair from the medicine cabinet shelf. Right where I left it. For a moment, I catch my reflection in the glass. If anybody else were looking back, they’d surely think I was mad.

Back in the room, I gather my tools. Likwid Weld has come in real handy since I began. I mean, I was always creating. Dragging safety scissors across cheap red thread. Messy stitches finishing the latest pillow, or American Girl-sized dress.

“You’re always so creative!” Sandra would say. I’m lucky my mom always supported that side of me. The gay thing—not so much. But I never had to doubt I was an artist. Every saved birthday card and drawing showed me that.

I strain my eyes to apply the last golden curl. This is where the Weld comes in. The only thing I’ve found that sticks. Gabby has started up her own project in her work corner. So careful with her space: she’s got the incense burning and the LoFi. I’m glad we can bond over these things.

Our life is like the one I imagined during my poetry phase. Poetry and charcoal drawings of emo girls and sad boys. I didn’t know the boy was me, though. And the quiet girl with her canvas and paints was, well, Gabby. I wouldn’t say that out loud, though. Except maybe to my dolls. They are good listeners.

Each time teaches me something new. Patience, flexibility. They’re never exactly what I expect. So I threw out expectation a while ago, too. Another lesson. Right now I’m just wondering where I lay those scissors...

This one is a clown. Well, sort of. The curly hair and the circus clothes are definitely popping out at me. But there’s something else I can’t quite see yet. He’s got a voice, this one. I think he’s a singer. Maybe I’ll make him a little mic. They are all extensions of me. My characters. I do love to sing.

“Is there like...something wrong with me?”

She turned her head, unsure what I meant. Knowing I would go on.

“You know I, like, actually hear them, right? Not actual words, just feelings...and she *really* wanted to come to work with me, today.” I scoff at my own words. I had to sound completely batty.

“I mean...you know they’re all you, right? I guess Belle is just feeling a little neglected.”

I let my breath go a little. She’s so good at that. Putting things in perspective. Letting me be me. She loves my critters. Even when they’re more scary than cute. Even then, they’re cute to her. I’m glad Gabby is here.

She makes things better.

Gently, I place the latest on the shelf. Right between the tarot box and Fae. He looks happy there. Like he’s got friends now. It’s lonely living in imagination alone. Reminds me how parents tell their kids: “you were just a twinkle in my eye.” I know they mean in a sexual way. But it works, here.

Harry. I’ll call this one Harry. I’ll leave him alone for now. Before I over-analyze. Not his fault I’m a perfectionist. I guess it’s a lesson all parents learn. Once they’re out on their own, gotta let them be themselves.

I curl into Gabby’s chest. Even gods have to get their rest.