The Alphabet Project, Part 4: "Doll"

Well, this one came by surprise. As I was walking back to my hotel from a day of training in Clerkenwell the name "Suki" came to me, and the entire story suddenly came to me, fully formed. I wrote it longhand in pencil that evening, and it took about an hour from start to finish.

This is the first draft, untouched, exactly as it was written.

***


Suki slammed the door as she returned home, tossing her bag into the corner before slumping onto the sofa with a deep sigh.

"Good day?" I asked. She just stared in response, forehead buttressed by steepled fingers.

"No," she eventually said. "I was sacked."

"Sacked? Why?"

"Misconduct," she sighed. "I called the boss a slag."

"Bloody hell! Why did you do that?"

"Because she's a slag."

Suki often misses the point.

"So what will you do?" I asked. "Could you apologise? Any chance you could get your job back?"

"I called the chairman a cock too," she said, "so probably not."

"Let me guess - he's a cock too?" I said, humouring her.

"He's actually okay. Bit of a perv, but harmless enough."

"Well, that's okay then." She didn't notice the sarcasm in my voice. "Suki, how are we going to manage? I mean, we'll only have my salary until you get something else."

She shrugged. "I'm going for a shower, and a think," and with that she was gone.

Two hours later she came back into the room. She'd done her hair, put on some make-up, and was wearing her favourite dress - the spotty one - and her shiny black heels. She looked great.

"What's all this?" I asked.

"Been thinking," she said. "I'm going to become a doll. It's for the best."

"A doll?"

"Yes," she replied, then pulled one of the dining chairs from beneath the table and sat heavily on the cushion, head canted slightly to the right, arms before her, hands resting on her knees. She neither moved nor made a sound.

"Suki?" No response. "Come on, Suke. Stop messing about." Nothing. I put my ear close to her mouth and could hear her shallow breaths, saw the gentle rise and fall of her chest, but she was otherwise motionless, as well as mute.

Once again I humoured her. I let her play this silly game but made it as difficult as I could, staying in the room for as long as possible, sometimes tossing small balls of rolled-up newspaper in her direction, her face unresponsive as they ricocheted off her head, and took a few flash photographs of her, watching for a blink but none came. After a few hours of this I grew bored and decided to go to bed. As I walked to the door I kissed her on the forehead, running my hand over her hair.

"Night, love," I said. "See you up there in a bit."

She didn't follow.



The next morning I found her still sitting there, in the same position, eyes open. It seemed that she hadn't moved.

"This has gone a bit far now, Suki," I said. "Come on - you've had your fun, but please snap out of it."

Nothing.

"Suki, my parents are coming round later. They can't see you like this, can they?"

No response.

I thought for a moment. An idea suddenly came to me, something she'd hate which was guaranteed to make her return to normal.

"Okay. There's only one thing for it." I walked over to her, reached behind her back, and lifted her from the chair. I carried her upstairs and into the bedroom, laying her gently on the bed. She still kept her hands before her as though holding an invisible person in her arms. I opened the wardrobe, pushed some clothes to the sides, and stood her in the middle, leaning against my golf bag.

"I know you don't like the dark, or confined spaces, so this should bring you back around. Enjoy it. It's a bit like a display case." And with that I closed the door.



I told them she'd gone to see her sister and they seemed to believe me. As soon as they had gone I went to the bedroom and she was still there, exactly as I'd left her.

"This is stupid, Suki," I said. I carried her back downstairs and returned her to the dining chair, putting her into the same position as before. Her hair had become a little messed-up in the wardrobe so I dashed upstairs, took her brush from the dressing table, and returned to the lounge where I sat and brushed her hair for a while.

"Are you hungry? Would you like anything to drink?"

Nothing.



The weekend came to an end and I obviously had to return to work, especially as we were now having to survive on a single income thanks to Suki's lack of tact in her now former role. She hadn't moved from the chair as far as I could tell, so I assumed she must be hungry, thirsty, and desperate to go to the toilet. I left a glass of water on the table by her side, some fruit, and a sandwich, kissed her forehead, and turned to the door.

"Please come back to me, Suki," I said. "I miss you." Then I went to work.

When I returned she hadn't moved or touched any of the food, the sandwich dry to the touch, beginning to curl at the edges.

"What are we going to do?" I wondered aloud. No response. For a few seconds I debated calling NHS Direct for advice, but how would it sound? Hello, my girlfriend has been pretending to be a doll for three days. No, she's thirty two years old. I'd sound insane.

As darkness fell I lifted Suki from the chair and carried her upstairs, lying her on the bed, being careful not to crease her dress.

I fell asleep lying between her arms, tears taking me to my dreams.



The week passed slowly and my mood darkened. I snapped at my colleagues as my work suffered, my thoughts solely on Suki rather than my duties. Would she ever come back? Would she speak and move once more?

My boss said something minor, something about my work or my appearance, and I snapped. I threw a stapler across the office, called my boss a dick, and I earned a suspension. I grabbed my stuff and marched out of the office.

The lift took me to the lobby. As I descended in my solitary cell I caught my reflection in the mirrored wall. I looked a mess, my hair scruffy and matted, the beginnings of a beard on my chin. On my way to the station I stopped at a barber, instructed him to take his clippers and give me a short crop all over.



Suki was still on the dining chair when I arrived home. I knew what I had to do. I walked before her, stopping a few feet away.

"Look at me," I commanded. She didn't. "Look at me," I repeated. "Look at my hands." I held my hands before me, the fingers slightly curled. "See how they grip. Look at my eyes." I moved them from side to side.

I saw a flicker of recognition on her face, a partial smile.

"Should I?" I asked.

She nodded, the smile forming fully.

"Yes," she said. "It's fun. Interesting."

"Good," I replied, and pulled up a chair by her side.


***

Written by Peter Lee on 27th September 2010 in room 446 of the Holiday Inn Express, Old Street, London.
(C) 2010 Peter Lee / A Nasal Hair Production

As always, all comments gratefully received.