Citronella

Citronella’s eyes are not dolly eyes. They are my eyes. And her tiny mouth is my own...

Citronella.

That’s the name Sara gave her favorite dolly. The one she takes everywhere. The one with a slit cut out in the back. A secret compartment. You can’t see it because of the dress. Citronella wears a baby blue dress. Or maybe it’s cornflower—it does have that purple hue.

I can’t tell you what’s in the secret compartment. But of course, I know. I removed the dress, sliced open her dolly skin, and put it there. Sara doesn’t know about the secret compartment in her doll. And she may never know. When I sewed the slit back up, I took extra care to make sure the stitches were ever so pale, and no thicker than the hairs on the legs of a house fly.

I'm always there—following Sara wherever she goes. Watching everything she does. Because Citronella’s eyes are not dolly eyes. They are my eyes. And her tiny mouth is my own. My eyes always watching. My lips always whispering whenever she holds me near. Sara loves her dolly. But I love her more.

We are inseparable.

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