Broken Dolls (10 page)

I don’t dwell on their squabble for long. I’m far too gobsmacked by the size of the theatre up ahead to focus on anything else.

It’s big–well, obviously–and really modern. The theatres I’ve seen on TV are rustic and adorned with gargoyles or something.
This
theatre looks like an abstract piece of rock that’s conveniently landed in the right place at the right time.

We enter the foyer, golden lights and crimson carpet only enhancing the posh, glamorous vibe. The professor is immediately greeted by a waiter who offers a glass of sparkling wine. The professor kindly refuses and places a tender hand on Gabby’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry for the harsh words exchanged, dear,” he says softly. “I love you.”

“Love you too,” Gabby replies matter-of-factly and strokes his hand.

“You’re very brave.” The tears well up in the professor’s eyes.

Gabby shrugs. “Don’t have a choice. I think Libby’s braver.”

“Who is Libby?”

Gabby points to a girl her age, surrounded by family. The girl has no hair and is wearing a bandana tightly around her head. Her skin is as dark as Lisa’s clothing, and her eyebrows are non-existent. She is frail, but she doesn’t stop smiling. I don’t think anyone should stop smiling.

“She’s sick, like me, but with something as old as time. She’s been in and out of the hospital her whole life and said the next time she goes in will be her last. I haven’t worked out if she’s just trying to be positive in a bad situation.” Gabby licks her lips. “I’m thirsty. May I please get a lemonade?”

Libby must hear Gabby’s voice, because her eyes glisten when she waves her hand dramatically over her head, calling out. She walks towards Gabby to embrace her, her teeth glorious pearls.

“Lovely to see you here!” Libby’s voice is deep and angelic.

“You too. When did you come out of hospital?” Gabby nods at the hospital gown that hangs past Libby’s red coat.

“Thirty minutes ago.” Libby laughs. “I’m going back in tonight. I didn’t want to spend my birthday in bed.”

I glance at the professor who is eyeing Libby a little too intensely. His narrowed eyes, pursed lips, and flared nostrils would give me goosebumps if I had skin.

“How old are you?” He crosses his arms.

Libby doesn’t seem perturbed by the curtness. “I’m twelve today, sir.”

“And you’re terminal, correct?” If I had been drinking water, I would’ve spit it out. Did he really just ask a kid if she’s terminal? Who
does
that?

“I don’t see it that way, sir.” Libby smiles, but the sadness tinges her voice. “My adventure may end here, but it shall continue elsewhere.”

“Hmm,” he mumbles.

Really? That’s all the professor can say? ‘Hmm’? What’s
wrong
with him tonight?

The lights flicker, followed by a cheery ding.

“Oh, the show’s about to begin!” Libby’s face lights up. She hugs Gabby and inexplicably curtsies to the professor. There’s no way in the world I would have been polite to him after the way he conducted himself. “Have a lovely time!”

When she’s out of earshot, the professor bends down to Gabby. “What is her full name?”

“Libby Cox.” Gabby frowns, visibly unsettled by the professor’s behavior.

“And how do you know her?”

“From school, before she got sick.”

The professor hesitates. “Do you like her?”

“Yeah, she’s nice.” Gabby shifts and pokes her finger through the purse. She wiggles it, so I know she’s seeking reassurance. I wrap my arms around it and cuddle her finger, hoping it’s enough. “So, about that lemonade?”

“You head inside, Gabrielle. I’ll get you that drink.” The professor pats her softly on the shoulder before walking against the flow of theatergoers to reach the bar.

Gabby enters through a set of grand doors and opens the purse wider for me to view the inside. The stage is magnificent–everything I could’ve ever wished to perform on. The starlit ceiling shines down on the fake vines wrapped around the columns, and the seats look expensive. Like really, expensive. I’d be too nervous to drink in case I spilled anything on the fabric.

Gabby squeezes through the fourth aisle and settles in her seat. “Seriously! What is wrong with Grandpa?” she whispers, trying not to look at me when she speaks. I presume it’s because she doesn’t want people to think she is talking to her crotch. “That was so…so…”

“I know!” I whisper too, semi-paranoid about being seen. I keep my nose rested on the tip of the purse, using that as my visibility cut-off. “If this were a movie, I’d suspect him of being the creepy stalker or killer. I just… I don’t know; things are sucking lately.”

“Preaching to the choir, Ella.” Gabby leans against the armrest. “But, we’re finally here. It’s another one for the bucket list. Everything is beautiful at the ballet…”

Gabby was wrong. Nothing was beautiful at the ballet. It was better than that.

Graceful men lifted lovely girls in white, and princes swooned over their swans. Whenever a ballerina raised her arms, someone was always there to catch her.

The live music was so much better than the deteriorating TV speakers. The orchestra was like a romantic radioactive wave that wafted through the theater, sending ripples of emotion through the audience.

The dancers’ technique was flawless, impeccable,
perfect
. I loved how their eyes glistened when the audience cheered. I envied their heaving chests as they posed during the applause. I wanted the exquisitely crafted costumes that pressed into their flesh.
They
have a life.

I put my hand to my mouth and sob. This time, not because I’m happy. I’m crying because of fury, envy…
hatred
. I don’t want to tear my gaze away from the beauty, but I can’t bear to watch a life that isn’t mine.

Tears run down my cheeks as I curl into a small ball in the purse. Gabby prods my side, but I cover my face with my good hand. I’m beyond words.

“Grandpa, I have to use the bathroom,” Gabby whispers.

“Oh!” The professor sounds shocked. “Should I come with you?”

“No, no, it’s fine. You enjoy!”

The track feels like an eternity. I don’t notice or care where we’re going. It’s only when Gabby clamps her hand around my waist and sits me on top of the sink in a room filled with cubicles and glaring white tiles that I calm down.

“What’s going on?” Her voice is exasperated. She leans on one leg, her arms rested crossly on her hips. “I thought you would like this!”

I sniff, too ashamed to look her in the eye. I fiddle with my stump (man, I wish I knew where my hand was) and kick my dress as I swing my legs.

“I don’t want to be this way anymore, Gabby,” I mumble. “I always imagined being human again, but I never realized how much I despised being a doll. I always thought it was cool that I never felt pain or aged, but since meeting you… Gabby, I’m not living. I’m dead. What if I
am
dead? Maybe, Lisa is doing me a favor by trying to kill me! I can’t go on like this!”

“Whoa, ease up!” Gabby swipes at my cheeks with her thumb. “When I said I wasn’t going to waste any more time on tears, I didn’t just mean my own. Ella, you’re immortal. Do you know how much I wish I could be like you? I have a week to live, and here you’re complaining that your life isn’t perfect!”

I bite my bottom lip and nod slowly. “Gabby, I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She lifts me from the sink and lowers me into her purse. “Just be grateful.”

I stare at her from the purse, a warm feeling pulsating in my chest. She really cares about me; maybe about as much as I care about her. “I
am
grateful,” I say softly. “Gabby? I know this sounds weird, considering we haven’t known each other for long… and I’m really sorry for saying this… but, I, um… I…”

“I love you, too.” Gabby lifts her purse to kiss my head.

I can’t stop grinning. For some illogical reason, I now feel like I can take on the world.

Is it possible to watch something without ever really seeing it? Because that’s what happened when I tried to watch the remainder of the ballet. I was too busy gathering old memories from my human life. Well, truth be told, I was only making them up. I liked the concept of horse-riding and gymnastics, but I’m not sure why.

I applauded half-heartedly when the dancers bowed and smiled nostalgically at the drawn curtain. My first and last visit to the ballet hadn’t been the soiree I envisioned, but it probably beat sitting alone in a plastic box avoiding Lisa.

“Hey! It’s Libby!” Gabby says when we reach our car. I peek through the opening in the purse and sure enough, Libby’s beaming four cars down.

“I don’t see you for months, and now you can’t get rid of me!” Libby blows Gabby a kiss. “Good luck, bud. See ya on the other side.”

Gabby doesn’t reply, she only waves and throws herself in the backseat of the car.

The professor turns the on the ignition, muffling the outside voices. “What did you think, Gabrielle? Did you enjoy yourself?”

Gabby pauses, tightening her lips. “I loved it.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.” He reverses out of the parking space. We drive for the length of two modern contemporary songs playing on the radio, before the professor takes a deep breath. “I liked your friend.” His voice is higher than usual, and he sniffs after he speaks.

Gabby exchanges a worried look with me and tents her fingers in her lap. “I know.”

he floorboards beneath the carpet creak as Gabby climbs the stairs. She’s clutching her handbag and keeping it close to her heart, her eyes darting from the attic door to me.