Bella

By Nidhi W. Pednekar

Warm, sparkling sunlight, on my face. Summer is slowly ending, meaning I start my first year in college soon. Boxes everywhere. Packing everything is such a tedious task but it also makes me nostalgic. I have packed most things; however, I still have to sort through some old books and toys. I have one clear objective though, which is to find my beloved doll, Bella. I had spent my entire childhood playing with her. She was like a best friend to me, although, I don’t quite recall how I found her. I had made up a story as to how I happened to find her, just to satisfy my parents’ curiosity. Even the circumstances at that time worked in my favour in order to craft such a believable tale. I would spend hours on end playing with her, talking with her. She wasn’t a new doll or anything, in fact she looked like she had been played with and loved quite a lot by her previous owner. Nonetheless, I loved her and cherished her. 

I have a basket that’s filled with all my toys. In my childhood, I had made a commitment to never give my toys away, but now that I’m moving and my elder sister has a daughter, I’ll be giving those away to her. All toys except, Bella. She was my companion through hard times. I had found her during a particular low in my life. One of my best friends had named me a traitor, saying I had stolen something which I had lent her. She made our other friends steal my things and pretended to be innocent. Thankfully, our other friends told me what had occurred. However, when I confronted my so-called ‘best friend’, she blamed it on me, complained against me and broke our friendship. That was when I had found Bella. My friend stopped coming over, which drew questions from my parents. Thus, I made up the story that she moved abroad and gave me Bella as a remembrance. Although now that I think about it, I wasn’t sad about my broken friendship for too long. I got over it around the same time as I found Bella. 

It’s night by the time I’m done with half of the basket. As I dig through the basket, I remember a vague memory from when I found Bella. I seemed to have received her from someone, but who? As I search further inside, the more frustrated I get. Finally, as I near the bottom of the basket my hand grips something resembling a doll. “Huh?” I think, “I don’t remember putting her this deep inside.” As I withdraw it from the basket, holding the doll, bright sunlight temporarily blinds me. Wasn’t it night just now? Did it take me so much time to search for Bella that it was morning already? That’s when I hear it, a piercing shriek of a child. My vision returns, and I stare at the child- the girl- before me. However, it isn’t just any girl, it’s me, as a child. 

Child me stares at me with a bewildered look. “W-who are you? H-how did you g-get in? Mom! Stranger danger!”, she yells at the top of her lungs. Panic takes over me and forces me down the stairs and out of the house. I don’t stop running until I can’t breathe. I gulp mouthfuls of air, panting. Then, realization hits me and a hidden memory rushes in. I’m seven years old, just like the child me I just saw, and I see a woman holding a doll. What’s weirder is she looks just like how I do now, and she ran away like me as well. I’m too stunned to do anything. But I have other things to worry about. To start with, how am I supposed to get out of here? 

I wander the streets like a maniac, with Bella in my hand, all the while wracking my brains for a solution or a memory to help me go back to my reality, my present. Just then, I see a bookstore. It had closed down when I was thirteen, but it’s in full business right now. As I enter, a tiny bell rings, and the aroma of old and new books surrounds me. I loved this place. I walk between the shelves running my hand over the spines of the books I see. It feels so wonderful to be here. I pull out at least ten different books and carry then to the counter. To pay, I pull out my wallet and hand in the money, but the man at the counter glances at me sceptically. “Are you trying to give me fake notes now, lady? Well, I won’t be fooled. Give me real money or get out,” he says. I scowl, “Way to be rude,” I think. Only then do I realise that the money notes have changed since then. I pull out my card wallet,  and just as I’m about to pull my newly operational debit card, I find a membership card, with the bookstores name. I hand it in and just like that, I’ve gotten the books. 

I haul the books around in a plastic bag which looks like it might break. Just then I see my aunt, Sweta’s, store. She used to sell handmade things like jewellery, bags, and keychains, at her store until she moved abroad when I was ten years old. She was always so kind and wasn’t nosy like other relatives. She always showered me with love. I had missed her a lot, however I always made sure that I called her at least once a week.  I go to her stall with tears brimming in my eyes and smile at her. My voice breaks as I ask her how much a bag costs. It’s cheap, and I have a few coins which help me pay for it. She has a genuine smile on her face when I tell her how much I appreciate her work. Involuntarily, I end up hugging her, and she hugs me back, patting my back as I cry silent tears. Finally, I leave. I think I have a solution, but I don’t know if it will work.

As I walk back home, I see all those things that were there back when I was a kid but are no longer there. I take it all in, and accept it, as a sort of closure from my childhood and teenage, now that I’ll be an adult and in college. I reach home and ring the bell. It’s around 4 p.m. and I know that around this time, only my sister and I used to be home. Child me opens the door. I smile at her. “Hi, you won’t believe me but I’m a fairy and I know what happened with your friend. She’s a real bad girl for doing that to you. But don’t feel too bad. I know that you’ll make many better friends and have a good life ahead,” I say, “So, don’t be hard on yourself. It’s not your fault. This will pass as well. Smile and live well.” I see tears in her eyes and end up hugging her. She cries on my shoulder, and I do too, patting her on her back, whispering, “It’s fine”, all the time. When I break the hug, I give her the doll and books and say, “This is for you!” and run up the stairs into the toy basket. When I come out of the basket, it’s night again. I’m back to the present. A wave of emotions overwhelms me, and I cry silently for a while. It was me who had comforted myself at a bad time. The doll meant so much to me because the person who had given it to me had helped me become happy again. The doll, Bella, had brought happiness to me. I don’t dwell anymore on what had happened and continue packing.

By Nidhi W. Pednekar