The Doll Nobody Could Hold

I wasn't even trying to take it. Her baby's hair was sticking up on one side and I reached over to smooth it down, the way you'd fix a collar without thinking. She spun her whole body away. Shoulder up, doll pressed flat against her chest, turned so I couldn't even see its face.

have you ever felt this way too?

So I did the thing. Let me give her a little love too, I said, in my nicest voice. Then I tried again from the other side. Then I tried making it a game. Every try landed softer than the last, and she just gripped harder. And then the tired part of me slipped out. Sharing is kind, I said. I heard how it sounded. The more I reached, the smaller she got.

So I stopped. I put my hands down on the carpet where she could see them not doing anything, and I lay down on the floor beside her, close enough that our arms almost touched. She's yours, I said. Today, only you get to hold her. I didn't ask for anything back. I just stayed there on the rug like a person with nowhere else to be.

She didn't look at me. But her shoulder came down. After a while I said, do you want to take care of her? And she watched the doll's foot for a long second, and nudged it one inch toward me. One inch. I didn't move a muscle.