Baby Doll
Words by Joel Dale. Image generated by AI, curated by Joel Dale
Priya sat on the vibrant plastic bench of the open air tram which would take this party of strangers to the heart of the amusement park. The mixture of people who come to these parks are diverse not only in background, but reason for being there. There are the teens who remember coming here as a kid, and even though it’s G-rated, feel like grown-ups because it’s the first place their parents let them go on their own. There are the adults, who never wanted to leave childhood, and journey here to exit their real lives; they have kids who they could take, but somehow never tell them where they are going. Then there are the adults that are very connected to their busy lives but want to bring joy to their youngest children… or else. They believe all the expense, stress, and meltdowns are worth it. There are the young children themselves who are along for the ride. They love the colors and can’t wait to meet their favorite talking animal. And then there’s Priya, a business exec, there to meet an old friend who belongs squarely in one of the earlier categories, and otherwise would not show up on her own.
She found herself sitting across from the cutest child, probably no more than 3 years old. Plump face, her pinkish fairy princess costume showed the kind of discoloration and wear that indicates it’s well loved. Blue eyes, blond hair, and a clear innocence. This park is for her. The young child held in her hands a doll. She was still at the age that such things are alive in their minds. Children have a deep capacity for lovingly providing voice and personality to their dolls, as if they actually are speaking, and in return the doll gives years of unending comfort. Priya looked down at the doll held in this sweet child’s hands. Dear lord! A hairless, plastic head connected to a taupe colored, sexless body with no detail - a baggy shape of filling, stitched to indicate arms and legs. No dress. No clothes of any sort. Just stained fabric attached to a plastic horror toy.
This was a doll anyone would slam the door if seen at the end of a dark closet. Followed by a sincere “NOPE” and thoughts of where the matches were. The youngest of babies crying instantly because even their lizard brains recognize it as bad ju-ju. Holding onto this doll would only be appropriate if aliens ate her parents earlier that year. Priya watched this child talk to the doll, playing joyfully, showing it the sights as the train whisked by the well designed store front facades where much happier looking dolls live.
“Excuse me,” Priya said, grabbing the parents’ attention. “I think your child may be deficient.”
