I didn't cry when I was six and I lost that plastic toy. A stupid doll, blond hair, blue eyes. I stood my ground, waiting for that insignificant moment where life would be at peace again. Walking around the cold house, with my fleece hat on no less, I looked for spaces of hope. Under the couch there was only an old Cosco bag, a hair clip, and my cat, Richy. As tears formed in my eyes, I remembered my fathers words, "Trouble hurts you, but you hurt trouble." I found Barbie in the backyard hidden in the ground. Dirty, muddy, and with worm poop on the figurine, I ran to my brother and asked him if he had anything to do with it. He did.
At 17 I find the dusty Barbie in the attic, next to old photos of when my family wasn't in shambles. I find an old piece of artwork and think, wasn't life easy? A peaceful moment is as comforting as finding a doll now. A mean brother is nothing compared to the wrath of other teenagers. And stupid words from your fathers dry lips is about as useful as 3rd period Spanish. So I would use the moment of silence, but all I would remember is that it cost $5.00 to get me here.