Just a piece I wrote for CNF class a couple of weeks ago... forgot to post it. I've got another one from last semester that's longer but I'll post that soon.
Beheading Betsy
Betsy died the day my brother pulled her head off. He giggled wickedly while he dropped it and watched it roll down the slight incline on the wooden floor stopping calmly at my toes. I looked down and Betsy was smiling up at me. Four and shocked, I bent down, palmed her little ragdoll head, wound up, and threw it back at him. It bounced off his face and he started crying. I felt horrible. Not for my brother, for Betsy. She was already in immense pain from having her brain broken and here I was throwing around her head. I was probably the worst friend in the world.
Matthew, my brother, ran off to his room crying and probably going to protect Bobby, Betsy’s brother. I was more concerned about my little ragdoll friend, and if she’d ever be ok again. I walked over and crawled underneath the dining room table to retrieve Betsy’s head from the fort, where it had landed this time. I started crying because I was scared for her and whether or not she would make it through this first brain surgery she was going to have to have. I picked up her head and that little sewn on red mouth was smiling at me. She was always smiling.
* * *
I got my first Betsy from my Grandma when I turned one. Grandma and I were shopping at a craft fair, I was more than likely just tagging along, and I saw this little ragdoll with an oval shaped head, blue bonnet, and heart shaped smile that I absolutely fell in love with. She didn’t come home with me that day instead ending up as a birthday present months later. Betsy and I shared the same birthday that way.
She was special because she had a small neck and a big heart. Her head was only attached by a single string which in essence made the doll fun for my brother. He would torture me by turning her head all the way around, and occasionally pulling it off when we were fighting. I loved her because her heart was sewn onto her chest and I could tell she easily she loved me, despite all the torture from my brother. She was his friend too.
* * *
“Grandpa, is Maffew going to be ok?”
“Yes, he’s going to be fine Catie, He just has to have a little surgery where the doctor makes a tiny cut in his stomach and take his appendix out.”
“But won’t that hurt?”
“Not during the surgery, but probably after, so you’re going to have to be awful nice to him when he comes home.”
“I suppose I can do that.”
Matthew was two when his appendix ruptured and I don’t think I’ve ever seen a little boy hurt so much. As the big sister I wanted to take care of him, but at four I didn’t know how. Except for Betsy. Even though he had pulled her head off a million times and Grandma had to perform “brain surgery” to sew it back on, I still offered her to him for comfort, but he didn’t want a girly doll.
There he was laying on the couch all curled up under a blanket, face twisting in pain, little tears coming out of his eyes. I want kiss him on the cheek, but Mom said I couldn’t, I thought to myself. I know! If I can’t touch him, Betsy can!
Slithering across the carpet, trying to be as sneaky as possibly, I glance through the dining room to see Mom’s back at the sink. I had my break. Slithering some more and making it to the bottom of the couch, I slowly lift Betsy up and over the edge, laying her down beside Matt. Next thing I knew Betsy was flying at the tv!
My brother may have only been two, but he sure didn’t want a girly doll. I just wanted him to feel better.
* * *
After a few years and many brain surgeries, Betsy got really sick and couldn’t be fixed anymore. I honestly didn’t know what happened to her after she was replaced, but I could always tell the difference between my first Betsy and Betsy number 2, her heart wasn’t sewn on. It was merely painted with fabric paint. Somehow though, that didn’t matter as much to me even though that was an important part of my friend the first time around. Her smile has stayed the same, a thin red line with a heart in the middle and this time Betsy came with a brother, Bobby.
We were pretty alike, Betsy and I, except I had a little more hair than the tiny black tuft on her forehead. I could tell from the first time she laid eyes on him, Betsy loved her brother Bobby. It was a good thing Matthew got him while staying in the hospital, because if he hadn’t, I would have made him suffer with a girly doll during his recovery.
It was always the four of us from there on out. We experienced a lot of brain surgeries but Betsy and Bobby always kept Matthew and I smiling through the sad times.
* * *
The last time I was at my grandma's I went into her craft room to find my first Betsy because I had a hunch she was in there. Somehow, I knew my mother had never gotten rid of her, but I didn't think she was fixed either. Sure enough, there she was sitting on the shelf in a plastic bad to keep her from getting more worn and aged from the air. Her head sat beside her in the bag, smiling her little red smile with her heart shaped lips. I though about my brother and the skin biopsy he just had done, being the big sister and wanting to take care of him. I looked at Betsy again, in pieces but still smiling. And how Bobby, stuffed in a box somewhere, was probably smiling too.
