I cleaned out part of my closet today. Well, I say “cleaned out,” but it was more like, “shuffled everything around.” (I did get rid of a few things.) In the process, I discovered my box of Barbies from when I was little, so I got them out and looked at them. I can still remember some of the stories I made up. My favorite one was about people who were able to live underwater. I had two dolls (a Teresa and a Midge) that have bikinis painted on them, and I also have a scuba-diving Ken doll. The Teresa’s name was Sarah, and the Ken’s name was Josh. As I got older, they went through various stages of in-lovement.
But when I was going through my box today, I discovered that Sarah is gone. I don’t know if I lost her when I moved eight years ago, or if she’s hiding somewhere in my house, or if some child made off with her. She’s gone. And it might sound weird, but even though I haven’t looked at her in almost ten years, I feel like I lost one of my best friends. I have so many memories with her. She and Josh fought sea serpents together and watched the sea from a tower made of foam blocks. They had a pet dolphin and they tried to get married, but his mother wouldn’t let them because Sarah wasn’t “human.” Sometimes, it would turn out his mother wasn’t human either. She was a real mermaid. (I had an attachable tail and everything.)
Some people criticize Barbie for what she does to our perception of beauty. I never had this issue with Barbie. My dolls were my friends, and I created worlds for them. It’s no wonder I’m a writer. I’ve been training since I was five years old.