Torn

 

I didn’t have a favorite toy, not like

Susie and her scruffy bunny,

all his cotton fur rubbed off, or Richard

with his Lincoln Logs that pushed out of the prairie

of the beige rug in his bedroom/family den.

I once picked up the receiver of the phone

in the toy box, but the curly cord and receiver had disappeared.

That was it for toys in the time before Monopoly and books.

I wanted them, of course, dolls especially,

thought couldn’t bring myself to play with them

once they were placed in my arms.

We were waiting for the bus, and my mom’s friend came by.

I stared into the toy store window behind us,

my one and only lifelong friend looking back,

her violet eyes shaded by bristly brown lashes.

I yanked my mother’s arm, begging, weeping

buy her, buy her, I need her forever.

Mistake one: not smiling and saying hello to the lady.

Mistake two: Going hysterical over a doll

I’d  never play with. My mother repeated

my mistakes on the never ending ride home.

Lesson one and only: You could beg and demand,

scream and yell for an item when you knew–

you did know– your mother was right.