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Jessica Baumgartner

The November Selected Writer is Jessica Baumgartner

Please feel free to email Jessica at: jessbaum23@gmail.com

Jessica

MOLDED TO PERFECTION
by Jessica Baumgartner

“Mom, Stephanie brought a Barbie over from Kayla’s house.”

I sigh and walk into my eight year old daughter’s room with a frown. Stephanie looks up at me with eyes as guilty as a dog that ate the Thanksgiving turkey. Her slight frame shrinks from me, and we both look to the plastic doll lying on the floor in front of her.

“Told you Mom would be mad.”

“Max,” I shoot my son a threatening look as he smirks from the hall. “Don’t take pleasure in this, or you’re just tattling.”

He backs away to disappear into his room and shuts the door. Turning to my daughter again, I crouch down to face her. I cup her chin. “Sweetie, I love you. But you know how I feel about these toys.”

Her eyes move over the blonde Barbie as I pick it up in disgust.

“Do you think women really look like this?” I ask.

She shrugs.

“I know other girls play with them all the time, but I want you to love your body, and figures like these give girls an unrealistic body image. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Not really.”

I love that she’s not afraid to talk to me, but grow annoyed at her pout. “Come here.” I lean back to sit Indian style so she can climb into my lap. Pushing my forehead against hers, I wrap my arms around her. “When you see dolls like this, doesn’t it make you want to look like them?”

She shrugs again.

“Well, it often does for other girls, and then they grow up and feel bad when they don’t. I just don’t want you to be upset for being yourself as opposed to some plastic ideal.”

“But Mom, she’s just a toy. I like her, and Kayla said I could keep her.”

My patience thins. “I’m your mother, and you know the rules.” I clutch the doll as I scoot Stephanie out of my lap and stand up to leave the room. “These things should be destroyed,” I declare as I shut the door.

An immediate need to march the doll to the trash can and toss her in consumes me until the job is done. My daughter doesn’t come out of her room until dinner. She slinks to the table and sulks throughout the entire meal.

“When’s Dad coming home?” Max whines for the hundredth time.

“Tomorrow…he’ll be back soon enough.” I wasn’t too keen on Dan going away on business, but the kids are getting older, and it’s supposed to aid his career advancement.

Max’s eyes light up as he changes the subject, “Hey Mom, since Stephanie can’t keep the Barbie, can I…”

“…No Max, I don’t need you melting, or rocketing yet another toy in our yard.” Images of my son becoming a serial killer plague me. That boy is obsessed with finding new ways to torture his sister’s toys. Who knows what kinds of play can trigger some kind of psychosis that leads down the wrong path?

“Where is my doll?” Stephanie asks with hope.

“In the trash, where she belongs.”

“No, you can’t throw her away!” my daughter shrieks. “What if Kayla finds out?”

I imagine trying to explain to my friend why I threw away the toy her daughter gave mine without offending her. Sticking to your convictions without insulting people who don’t have the same ideals is tricky. A sip of wine steadies me. “She won’t find out, and if she does, I’ll handle it.”

“I don’t see why I can’t do some experiments with the stupid doll if it’s already in the trash.” Food particles spray from Max as he munches his chicken.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full, Max,” I scold him as my daughter shoots me a pleading look.

He shovels the rest of his food into his mouth as Stephanie slinks back to her room. “Can I have that?” He points to her plate.

“Fine.” I take a bite of my salad and then a long gulp of wine.

Once Max stuffs himself with the leftovers on my plate, I fill the dishwasher and grade some papers for work before the kids go to bed. It would be an easy night if it weren’t for my daughter’s sullen exile in her room. Max is as wild as usual, but I’m used to it. If he weren’t so high powered, I’d miss the stunts he pulls.

A loud thump calls me away to find him standing before his dresser knocked over. “Sorry Mom.” He smiles with big repentant eyes.

It’s nowhere near the worst of what he’s done. I bend down and flip it up as he helps me push. We get the dress to stand up against the wall again. “Okay, time for bed.”

“Aww, Mom!”

I swear if I didn’t hear that every night, I’d be suspicious. You get used to it. Even kind of enjoy the annoyances.

We get through the bedtime routine, and he’s out first. By the time I tuck Stephanie in and kiss her forehead, her smile returns, slightly.

The need to comfort her takes over. “You know I took the doll for your own good, right?”

She nods and cuddles a stuffed puppy my mother gave her years ago. “Good night, Mom.”

“Goodnight Sweetie.” As I make my way to the door and turn out the light, my conscience pricks me. Maybe I am taking this Barbie thing too seriously.

I blow her a kiss and shut the door. Walking to my bedroom, I remind myself, No, Dan and I are careful about what the kids are exposed to for their benefit.

When I finally grow tired enough to sleep, I climb under the covers and rest my eyes hoping the next day will leave all this nonsense behind.

*****

Rolling over, my body is stiff and I struggle to gain my footing. It seems as if I can’t get off the bed. The surface is lumpier too, hard in some places, and super squishy in others.

I sit up and grow more aware. It’s too dark to see, but I know I’m not in my bed, and my body isn’t responding properly. I make an effort to stretch my arms, but they’re locked in place, bent at the elbow. Unable to move my hands, I begin to panic.

No pulse increase? Strange, I notice the constant thump-thump is non-existent. I’d grown so used to the rhythmic pounding that growing conscious of its loss pushes all other thoughts out of my head.

A desire to scream goes unfulfilled as my mouth remains frozen. No sound escapes. I touch my cheeks, unable to angle my fingers to my lips. I can’t get the individual digits to bend at all.

Then I try to sigh, the most helpful of functions to keep a mother sane, but it’s impossible. No breath comes in or out. I’m trapped. Alive, but nearly fossilized.

Stretching my legs, I find that they’re stiff to the point I can do much with them either, so I utilize my hands. They help me to balance, but I push too far and fall face first with my butt sticking in the air. Now my head and feet are down and I must work harder to stand upright.

My body’s heavy, but it moves with ease at the correct angle. Reaching up tall, I turn my head and hope for some light higher up. Unfortunately darkness still holds me. I step forward and stumble as the floor shifts under my weight. My feet are pushing on an unstable surface, that’s all I can gather.

Then I hit a wall. It seems to go on forever. No matter where I reach, it’s all around. I slide my hands left going farther and father, and then I go right with no change. The barrier’s always there.

Unable to release my frustration I sit, no tears, no screams, no breath. My body remains still like a plastic doll. I have no idea how long I remain in this nightmare. All I want is to hold my children, to see my husband.

A light appears above me and all attention is drawn away from my strange predicament. It’s scarce, but enough to offer shadows. I bend my body forward to look down and jump back from the giant coffee grounds and pieces of a broken mug. Then my hands register. They’re not real…plastic set in a specific position…molded to perfection (or some man’s stupid idea of perfection.)

Wake up already, I think over and over.

When nothing changes, I decided to do what I can. I look at the trash in the can around me. How very symbolic, my sarcasm keeps me going. Okay, maybe when I wake up I won’t be so particular about Stephanie’s toys. I get it. She just wants to play without worrying about grown up stuff. I’ve learned my lesson, time to end.

Still I stand in this ridiculous form. Whatever, the inability to sigh unnerves me further.  I grope around and try to pick up a piece of the broken mug to start stacking. But it keeps slipping out of my false hands, stupid useless fingers. Whoever thinks Barbie is the image of perfection is insane. She can’t even move properly.

Determined, I squeeze a piece of ceramic between my inflexible hands and set it against the side of the trash can. At least I’m getting somewhere. It’s all I can focus on. I think to myself to keep from losing my mind. Fear that reality isn’t going to save me keeps sweeping into my brain, and I have to work to push it out of my cold form.

Once I get enough pieces, I carefully work to create an incline and test out my escape. I fall. I restack, and fall, restack, and fall until the terror of my situation grows. After another failed attempt, I lay on my side, unable to carry on.

What’s the point? Either I’m trapped in a nightmare, or the universe is much more twisted than I think. An ant crawls across my face. No, not after all that I’ve done to keep you out of my house, I wish to yell at the little insect. No amount of swatting reaches it.

Damn doll, her body sucks. Forget bad body image, hello useless puppet. The rage that consumes my being, forces me onto my stomach and I push up. It takes four attempts before success, but I get back at attempting to escape. Once again my makeshift pile is built for another try.

I haul ass and run full speed to reach the top. Each piece of trash shakes under my feet, but I hurl my torso over the side and fall over onto the floor of the cabinet under the kitchen sink. I knew it. I’m her. After enough time I realize people will come to terms with anything. I’m a freaking Barbie doll right now.

I push the cabinet door open and step out onto the kitchen tile. My warped vision causes me to fall over at the sight of the towering furniture before me. I lay still wishing to get back to my own body, but deep inside whatever’s left of me, I know this is no dream.

“Whoa! Look what I found,” Max’s voice greets my ears with a deep booming echo. He’s huge, but I try to remember that he hasn’t changed—I have.

Stephanie stretches as she walks in. “Where’s Mom?”

My very being cried out to my children, and still they cannot hear me.

“I don’t know, but look.” He grabs my artificial body and shakes my whole frame.

“So what? I can’t keep her, and Mom’s right. She’s stupid, anyway.”

“Then you won’t mind if I do this.” He rips my head off.

Even without nerves, or a heart, the dismemberment makes me want to shriek in agony. Everything becomes fuzzy.

“Mom said no mess in the backyard; but the garbage disposal isn’t the backyard.”

I can barely conceive what happening as the words, “Max, not the garbage disposal!” Unable to close my eyes, I look face first into spinning blades, as the hum of the garbage disposal prepares to crush the last piece of life I cling to. No sound can escape me and the first cut is the all I have left.


Jessica Baumgartner’s stories have been featured in Down in the Dirt Magazine, Beyond Imagination Literary Magazine, Aphelion, Postcard Scripts, Hellfire Crossroads, and others. Her Paranormal Romance novelette, Tale of Two Bookends was recently released, and her children’s book, My Family is Different, continues to break boundaries since being released last fall. You check her out HERE

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