The Doll that We Buried by Jade Alexandria illustration by Sadie Hutchings
The poles were out of the water and had been for quite some time, but James and I still sat by the shore, watching the darting shadows of the minnows. Two hours ago, we’d come home, loaded with groceries and a stack of papers from the mailbox. We cleared everything away until all that was left was the mail—bills, a US military appeal, internet provider ads, and a letter from Dartmouth. We both stared at the stack, and I thought about saying something, but then I was suddenly aware of the glass eyes of Ma’s dolls watching us from atop the wraparound shelves like a grim council. James picked up the US military appeal, shoved it in the trash, and asked me if I wanted to head down to the pond. I kept thinking about it, less about James’s military appeal or my letter from Dartmouth and more about those dolls, about the empty spot right above the trashcan where a porcelain family heirloom used to sit before I broke it in the fifth grade. 33
