Belle had still felt very strange, even hours after the weird event with the worry doll. She had taken a shower immeditaely afterwards, trying to rid herself of the sticky feel of blood on her face, in her hair, on her skin. She had turned the water as hot as she could stand it, scrubbed at her skin until it burned, but still the sensation lingered. It would have been a relief to be able to see her skin in the mirror, see that it looked normal - whatever normal looked like, she thought wryly - because her normally reliable senses were still fooling her into thinking that she was daubed with blood. She wondered where the little doll was now, if Alyssa had taken it back to the beach, or if it was still in the house somewhere. She could almost sense that the doll wasn't far away, although that was of course nonsense. How could a little scrap of twig with a tiny cloth skirt be signalling its presence to her. But then, how could a little scrap of twig have made her react in the way she had? It was all nonsense, she told herself, but somehow the thought didn't ring true.
--
I was still quite young when I realised that people reacted one of two ways to me. Sometimes they would either fuss over me, be extra attentive, and generally over compensate for the fact that they found my disability daunting and didn't know how to deal with it. These people were generally well intentioned, and over time they would normally start to relax and eventually the difference would fade, the awkwardness would disappear. The other type never seemed to change - they were the ones who spoke louder, because apparently your ears don't work properly when you're blind. They were the ones who felt they had to explain things to you, because apparently you have the mental capacity of one much younger when your eyes don't work. I always appreciate it when people describe things for me - like the location of the pedestrian crossing, the difference between two possible jackets, even something as banal as where the foods are on my plate, or if I have a stain on my shirt - those things make my life a lot easier. But why do some insist on also making a choice for me, apparently because I am incapable of doing so for myself?
--
Over the next week, the worry doll was gradually forgotten. Although all had seen the effect it had on Belle, after a while their memories faded, and the incident became a mere curiosity, rather than the mystery it seemed at first. Memories - misremembered, subconsioucly altered, blithely cross-patched - changed the event until it was just a strange reaction to a perfectly ordinary occurence. The worry doll was not mentioned again, and even Belle didn't spare it an extra thought after some time. Alyssa, busy with school and friends, never quite got around to taking the doll back to the beach, instead it languished on the bookshelf for a while, until it got knocked by a book, and fell down behind the shelf. It wasn't missed.
--
School was back in. Belle had started year ten in a new place, Alyssa had launched into first year chemistry. Jaime had begun in a small practise not far from their home, and Mandy found herself home alone most days. Unaccustomed to the amount of spare time she suddenly found herself with, she scoured newspapers for community groups to join, jobs to apply for and charities that required volunteers. Belle was finally given a guide dog, after more than five years on the waiting list. After the two of them spent some time together in the dog's foster home, Belle brought home a golden labrador retriever named Rudolph, so named for reasons no one really knew. With her new friend and the ability Rudoplh gave her to get around unaided, Belle began to explore the area around the house more. Life settled in to a new routine that revolved around Jaime's shifts, Alyssa's lectures and Belle's visits to friends and the shopping centre.
--
Belle was sitting on the beach chatting with her friend Kayla, Rudolph sitting obediantly between them, cadging pats from both girls. Belle knew what he really wanted was to go for a swim, and she decided to take his harness off and let him very soon, but right now she just wanted to sit. Her feet were buried in the warm sand, her hand was buried in Rudolph's warm fur and they were chatting about nothing in particular. She could smell sand and salt, hot dog and the very faint smell of Kayla's perfume. She felt relaxed, happy, and she didn't want to get up in case it broke the spell. Eventually though Rudolph turned towards her, whined a little, and stood slightly, "let's go," he was saying. Belle smiled, she had very quickly fallen in love with the labrador, and asked Kayla to come with her down to the water's edge. As they walked over the hot sand, Rudolph pulled harder on the harness, and when she felt the hard-packed, wet sand underneath her feet, Belle knelt and unstrapped him, told him to go and have a swim. Rudolph ran off without hesitation and Belle smiled as she heard him yapping in the waves. Kayla laughed, a sweet high laugh, "Oh I wish you could see him, Belle!" she said, "he looks as though he is enjoying himself so much."
Belle laughed too, "I can hear him, I know he is. I'm glad he found me. I don't think he would have been as happy in the city."
"That's true. You two are great friends already, aren't you?"
"Yeah, we sure are." Belle agreed.
Together, they stood on the beach for a while, waves lapping over their ankles and their feet gradually sinking into the wet sand. When he was thoroughly wet and compeltely worn out, Rudolph came back and Belle let him run free for a while to dry his fur before replacing the leather harness. He would dart out along the beach, yapping at the waves, then race back to Belle. He had already learned that the beach was the only place he wasn't expected to lead, but he was still a guide dog at heart - he wouldn't go too far away without Belle. They were getting ready to leave and head back home, and Belle called to Rudolph to get his harness back on. She knelt and patted him to make sure he was properly dry, but as she went to put the harness over his head, he kept on nuzzling her hand instead. Kayla looked down, "Oh he's got something, Belle. He's giving it you."
"What is it, Rudolph?" Belle asked, holding her hand out. The dog dropped something into her palm and immediately Belle felt a pain in her chest. She dropped the thing Rudolph had given, brought her hands to her chest and started to cough and splutter. At the same instant, Kayla asked what the problem was, and Rudolph began to howl. Almost as soon as it had arrived, the pain passed, Belle caught her breath again, and she lay curled in a ball on the grass.
"What the ... what happened, Belle? Are you OK? Should I call a ... I don't know ... an ambulance or something?"
Belle could only nod, she was fine, she just needed time to recover from the shock, but suddenly a fragment of a rhyme occured to her:
I had a pretty little dolly
I told it my little worry
It wrapped around in her mind, repeating and replaying, but not making any sense, but a connection had been made in Belle's mind, and she scrabbled around in the sand. "Can you find it, Kayla?" she asked
"Find what?" Kayla replied, mystified.
"What it was that Rudolph tried to give me." Both girls, with the dog's negligable assistance, scrabbled in the sand for some time, but the item could not be found. All the same, Belle knew what it was. It was a worry doll. Maybe not the same one as Alyssa had found months ago, but a worry doll all the same.
I had a pretty little dolly ...
--
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